Not Made Of Steel
by derval
Summary: Kaiba was a loner, more interested in - or perhaps just less afraid of - his textbooks than interacting with anyone, and Jounouchi had friends. Girls liked him. He smiled a lot. And he was an insufferable, egotistical bastard. Kaiba/Jounouchi, slight AU.
1. What It Means To Bleed

Hilariously, Kaiba was lost in his own town.

He was sure that a lesser man than him would've found it funny, anyway. But he, no, he was not particularly amused. Being the model student that he was, he had stayed late at school to finish his modest mountain of homework before deciding to head home for better projects. Now he thought, with increasing defeatism, he should've just stayed at school. Or maybe gotten a ride home. Walking had seemed like such a good idea; he could maybe clear his mind, relax a little - everyone at home kept commenting on how he looked "stressed". He often thought "yes, that is because I _am _stressed…".

When he'd left, it had definitely been light. Now the sun had vanished somewhere behind some skyscraper, and he was left stranded below a deep blue canvas that was blackened at the edges with the dirt of the city. An unearthly orange halo sickened the sky, the murk of light pollution from streetlights. It all made him feel so ill. He sought relief of a different kind than the carnal nightlife that this city offered. He just wanted to compute and mechanise… and get out of the cold. But he was wandering down a back alley in who _knew _what part of town.

He tugged at the lapels of his blazer so that he could settle better into its warmth. It was near summer, but the chill of nighttime had long since swept in and crept beneath his collar, up his sleeves. As he felt goosepimples race up the length of his forearms, he frowned. The alley he was creeping through kept getting narrower, the tower blocks walling him in kept getting taller, and he was competing for space with dumpsters and trashcans.

And then something unexpected came into view.

Kaiba recognised him instantly even from a distance; it was his hair. Blond. Now matted with what looked like it might have been blood. Jounouchi was sitting - perhaps this was generous, he was more in a kind of heap -, slumped against the red brick wall. His head was inclined, lolling as though he were asleep, so Kaiba couldn't see his face even as he found the will to move closer. He could've turned, and he could've left, and Jounouchi probably wouldn't have noticed… but, Kaiba realised as he got nearer, Jounouchi was in a bad state. And probably if he didn't help out, he could be implicated later.

This cold, calculating logic died as soon as Jounouchi stirred, then turned his head to gaze up at him. In fact he was gazing slightly past him, as far as Kaiba could tell. One of his eyes was a little defiant sliver, surrounded by a mush of battered purple flesh. A cut traced the length of his cheekbone, dark with drying blood. His now crooked nose sported a raw red graze where the flesh had been worn away as though his face had been slammed against a wall, and from the state of him, Kaiba could guess that that wasn't even the _half _of what had happened. His nose was also spurting blood. A lot of blood. A disturbingly large volume of blood. His front was covered in an enormous red stain that looked rather like one of those Rorschach ink blots. Kaiba thought it looked like a butterfly.

"Whad de fug are you loogin' ad?"

"I'm looking at you. You look awful."

"Yeah danks, you fuggin' genius, I god dat figured oud already," Jounouchi snapped; he was obviously angry, but there was something very entertaining about the fact that he couldn't, well, speak.

"You should go to the hospital."

"Maybe I dode wadda."

"Well, maybe you _should _'wadda', unless you want to bleed to death in a filthy little alleyway surrounded by trash. It'd be a fitting end, don't get me wrong, but… well, I pity you, Jounouchi."

He had never particularly liked Jounouchi. It was understandable. Kaiba was a loner, more interested in - or perhaps just less afraid of - his textbooks than interacting with anyone, and Jounouchi had friends. Girls liked him. He smiled a lot. And he was an insufferable, egotistical _bastard_. Jounouchi's sentiments towards him were similar. He envied the fact that Kaiba had what was essentially an infinite sum of money, that he could have whatever he wanted, and it infuriated him that he always seemed to think that he knew everything. Like right now.

"I swear do god, if I could mobe, I would be fuggin you up _so_ bad righd now."

Against his better judgment, Kaiba stepped forward. He held out his hand, though he was reluctant to dirty it with blood and grime. He needn't have been; Jounouchi was obviously too much of a _man_ to accept help from anybody, so he struggled to his feet by himself, looking much like he was having some sort of seizure. Kaiba watched, not guilty for feeling the tiniest bit amused. Jounouchi stood, or rather stooped, leaning against the wall, panting raggedly.

"I thought you couldn't move?"

"I dode need your helb."

"Fair enough," Kaiba said, and stuck his hand back in his pocket, "so you're going to go to the hospital now?"

"Yeah."

"Lead the way, then."

"Whad? Oh do, rish boy, you're nod comin' wid me," Jounouchi snarled, through a thick mouthful of clotted blood.

"_Somebody _has to make sure that you don't die on the way there, don't they?" Besides, he added mentally, I know my way home from the hospital.

"Nod godda die," Jounouchi said, and then he pushed off from the wall, then staggered, _almost _into Kaiba's arms.

Almost.

"Dode fuggin' touch me."

"Believe that I have no desire to," Kaiba sneered, and then followed Jounouchi as he lurched - with purpose - through the nighttime alleys.

They were both striding with their chins held high, which was a challenge for Jounouchi as thick blood kept oozing down the back of his throat. Every once in a while he would make a horrific hacking sound, and then gulp repeatedly, trying to swallow down the stringy mess of whatever the hell it was that was congealing at the back of his nose.

"Could you possibly not do that?"

"Oh, I'de sorry, does id bodder you? You're sush a priss."

Kaiba shook his head in exasperation, rolling his eyes.

"What happened to you anyways?"

"I dode wadda talk aboud id," Jounouchi snarled over his shoulder.

"Alright. I don't care very much, anyway."

Then there was a splattering sound. Jounouchi had forcibly expelled a fresh spurt of lumpy fluid from his nose, and it dashed against the pavement.

"That is seriously _disgusting_, Jounouchi," Kaiba snapped, and Jounouchi turned to face him, laughing thickly. "It's not funny, either. You're gushing blood everywhere. It's an arterial bleed, I think. … That means it's _bad_."

"I know whad a fuggin' arderial bleed is, you basdard."

"Then you should understand the seriousness of this situation, and maybe hurry your stupid ass to the hospital."

Instead of twisting in fury, Jounouchi's mangled face split into a wide grin.

"Alride den, asshole, we're nearly dere."


	2. Last One Home

The man at reception had thrust a rag at Jounouchi's face. It was now clamped firmly over his nose, and was slowly darkening with blood. The scant few people in the waiting room were giving them a wide berth, but Kaiba was content to sit next to him, on the condition that he kept his bodily fluids to himself. (This had made Jounouchi laugh, and Kaiba had told him to not be such a child). Beneath him, the hard blue PVC seat was squeaking slightly as he tapped his foot in impatience. The clock on the wall had said half eight when they'd arrived. Now it was ten. He watched the thin red second hand, and wondered if Jounouchi would even be able to stand when the doctors were ready to assess his situation.

Why had he agreed to stay? _Why_ would he want to do a good turn for someone who was, to him, at best an annoyance? Well, he'd reasoned, if he stayed, then Jounouchi would definitely owe him one later. And then for the few fleeting moments in which he had decided to stop lying to himself, the truth was that he felt very lonely. And he did not want to go home just yet. Jounouchi amused him.

"Sdop thad," Jounouchi said.

"Oh good, you're still conscious," Kaiba said. "Stop what?"

"Tappig your fud. Id's annoying."

Kaiba did not stop. Instead, as his irritation at being made to wait rose, he threw his gaze erratically around the room. It was long, narrow, with green and white linoleum. The tiles, Jounouchi had noted as he stared listlessly at the floor, were the same as in his kitchen, the same ones as he had repeatedly collapsed on, the same as he'd cracked his skull on when he was ten. And then again when he was thirteen. A row of seats lined each of the longer walls, alternating blue and orange, and Kaiba wondered if they made it so bright here in an effort to disguise the fact that it was in fact a hospital, and people did in fact die here. The walls were painted butter yellow. He did not like it.

Jounouchi wasn't feeling too good either, other than the fact that he was still seeping blood, this place put him on edge. The fluorescent lights droned; one of them flickered and sputtered occasionally. It made him feel sick. He'd been to the emergency department before. They always asked questions.

"Oh shid," Jounouchi said quietly. Kaiba tilted his head in his direction, an eyebrow quirked. "Whad do I say ib they asd me how I god like dis?"

"Say you fell down the stairs."

"I fell dowb de sdairs. Righd. Fell dowb de sdairs. I fell dowb de sdairs," he mumbled, trying to commit this to memory, "de sdairs punched me in de faze - fuck id!"

Kaiba shook his head and said, "You can't remember something for more than five minutes?"

"Cud me some slack, dick'edd, I'm incapasha - incabassa - incapashedaded!"

"You're _mentally _incapacitated…"

Jounouchi laughed.

"Fug you."

"Fuck you too," Kaiba said, smirking. "So what _did _happen to you, anyway?"

"I fell dowb de sdairs, dubass, we jusd wend through dat."

"You said something about being punched in the face…"

"None of your busidess."

A few seconds of quiet passed. They were now alone in the room. This was slightly overwhelming. Outside a siren wailed and flashing blue lights raced by the window.

"Was it… your dad?"

He'd heard rumours. More out of curiosity than really caring, he wanted to know the truth. But Jounouchi didn't say anything; he stared at his lap quietly. The silence dragged on for a little while.

"Alright, for God's sake, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Jounouchi was grinning again.

"You smile too much."

This only made his smile broader.

"Katsuya Jounouchi? We're ready for you now."

Jounouchi pushed himself to his feet, swayed a little, and then seemed to regain control of his body.

"You cad go hobe," he said thickly.

"I'll stay."

"Alrighd den, whaddever you wand," Jounouchi said, shrugging this off as though it wasn't a big deal, when actually it was kind of touching. But mostly really weird. Kaiba wasn't usually nice to him. Maybe nearly bleeding to death had made him more appealing.

"Hopefully you'll be able to actually _speak _when you're done," Kaiba quipped under his breath, but Jounouchi heard and sneered at him over his shoulder. He watched with mild interest as Jounouchi was led away by the nurse; he was tottering all over the place. Perhaps he truly would have died if Kaiba had left him in that alleyway.

It felt like the walls were pressing in on him, suffocating him, as he followed the nurse - that one bastion of safety and peace in this maze of hurt and bad memories. Jounouchi hated hospitals. He truly despised them. He'd been here a few times. None of them had brought him any comfort. Resigning himself to this at best potentially awkward situation, he trudged into the examination room after the nurse.

She gestured to the examination couch, which was a thin layer of black padding on a sturdy steel frame, and he sat nervously on the edge of it. He could feel his heart racing, and wondered if she would check his pulse and wonder what on earth was wrong with him. He felt very light headed. The edges of his vision were blurring and faded, and the door seemed a thousand miles away but he so longed to flee. His white-knuckle grip on the rag staunching his nosebleed tightened as she snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

"Alright," she said, then she turned to look at him. She smiled warmly. The unease roaring in his belly seemed to be sated by this, just a little. "No need to be afraid, Jounouchi. Now let's have a look at your face."

He dragged his hands away from where they clutched at his nose and mouth, and let the rag drop to his lap. It was almost uniformly scarlet.

"Looks like the bleeding has almost stopped," she said, as she swabbed his other cuts with a turquoise liquid that hurt him. "So we'll clean this mess up, then fix your nose. No need to worry. You'll be fine."

He seriously doubted that.

Once she was done wiping the dirt and blood and saliva from his face, she discarded the various gauzes and cotton balls she had used, and tilted his chin slightly so she could get a better look at his nose. He quaked at the touch.

"So, it looks like you've got quite a bad fracture," she said quietly, as she leaned in. Then she placed two fingertips across the bridge of his nose and palpated the underlying flesh, gently. He screamed inwardly. "Does that hurt?"

"Mhm."

"Okay. I'm going to give you a local anaesthetic and then realign the bone pieces."

Jounouchi looked blank.

"Whad?"

"I'll give you an injection, to make it not hurt, and then put your bones back where they belong. Got it?"

He nodded. He did not watch as she prepared the needle, and tried to think of something else. So he thought of Kaiba. He didn't know if Kaiba had noticed but he'd accidentally got a little blood down the front of his school blazer, and the mental image of him sitting there stock-straight with a disgruntled, haughty look on his face while covered in blood spray was kind of funny, now that he thought about it.

And why was Kaiba waiting for him anyway? Idiot. He didn't _need_ his help anyways, he could've walked himself to the hospital, and he sure as hell didn't need anybody waiting on him. Especially not Kaiba, who would probably use this against him someday. He hated him.

The sharp sting of the needle tore him back to reality, and suddenly he wanted Kaiba here to make sure he would be okay. He strangled this thought and buried it. It was embarrassing. And after a few minutes, he didn't feel even a twinge of pain, despite the fact that the nurse was jerking his nose this way and that. He didn't really feel anything, except for a strange calm that crept over him when he failed to try and not think of Kaiba.

Once she was satisfied that all was in its proper place, she removed her gloves and fetched a clipboard and forms from her work surface.

"Usually we don't have to do this," she said, and Jounouchi felt the dread descending on him, "but it's our responsibility to ensure that our patients are not in danger. So I'm going to ask you some questions, okay, Jounouchi?"

He just nodded.

"So… when did you receive these injuries?"

Jounouchi thought. "Five o'clock."

"And how long was it after you were injured that you arrived at the hospital?"

"Three hours."

"You were with another boy at the reception desk. Is that right?"

"Yeah," he said lowly.

"Is he a relative?"

"No. Classmate." Not friend, he thought in defiance.

"Okay," she said, jotting this all down. He guessed what was coming. "How did this happen to you, Jounouchi?" Bingo.

His heart pounded. He didn't want her to know the truth. A lot depended on this lie. "I fell down the stairs."

She nodded. "Go on."

"Well… I slipped on one of the top steps and I fell down. Just one flight. I have some bruises," he lied. The part about the bruises was actually true, but he sure as hell hadn't gotten them from falling. "So I went outside and started to walk to the hospital but I was kind of bleeding a lot… then Kaiba found me and… and he helped me get here." Help. He hated that word.

"And that took three hours?" She had an eyebrow raised. She was on to him.

"Um… I… yeah, because I - I think I might have passed out for a while? I don't really remember a lot."

"Did you hit your head?"

"I don't think so, I really can't remember, it doesn't hurt though."

She seemed satisfied by this. He felt elated; had she really believed him? "Alright. I'll write you a prescription for some painkillers, and antibiotics to keep your nose from getting infected," she said, and as she busied herself doing this, Jounouchi frowned. His father would take his prescription meds and sell them for money for drink and smokes. He knew that. She didn't.

She handed him the piece of paper and he left, following the corridors back to the waiting room. Kaiba was there. Still blood-flecked. Still antsy. Still a prick.

Kaiba stood. Walked to him.

"Are you going to go home?"

Jounouchi stared.

He hadn't wanted to think about that.


	3. Safe

"Jounouchi? I asked you a question…"

Jounouchi was somewhere else right now. He grasped his prescription a little tighter in his hand so that the paper was crushed. If his dad was home… if he was home… if he was conscious…

What would he do?

He remembered once, about a year ago, he'd come home late because he'd been in a fight. His father had been awake and had come at him with a broken bottle, so he'd jumped out of the window. The sprained ankle had been totally worth his life. He could do it again. Or he could sleep on the street tonight. It was a dangerous place, he knew that much, but he had some friends out there - though 'friends' was a rather generous descriptor. They were merely people who didn't want to mug or rape him, because he'd done them favours before. And the shred of fucked up safety they offered him was doubtlessly better than heading _home_.

But he had to change out of this blood-sodden shirt. They had school tomorrow. He was part way through devising a clever plan to get clothes (and maybe food, depending on how long he had) without being caught by his dad, when Kaiba finally got his attention.

"Jounouchi!"

He jumped, startled, and then his eyes came back into focus and locked with Kaiba's. Those eyes were so unlike his; cold, blue, unfeeling. He wondered if Kaiba ever really got angry, then he doubted it. Did Kaiba ever feel anything at all?

"Sorry. Anyway, yeah, I'll head home I guess. It's not far, so…"

Kaiba looked at him sceptically. "Are you sure you want to?"

"Why wouldn't I want to go home?" Jounouchi said, forcing a smile, "Stupid question."

With a shrug, Kaiba walked past him through the wide doors of the waiting room. "I'll see you at school then."

"Yeah. Seeya."

Now that he thought about it, it would've been nice to go home with Kaiba. Obviously he felt moronic for even entertaining the thought, and he would never, not _ever_, suggest this, but… he would've liked to sleep in a comfortable bed. Eat decent food. Or any food at all, for that matter. And maybe a tiny little sliver of him enjoyed Kaiba's company. Maybe the same miniscule fraction of him felt kind of safe when Kaiba was around.

But, he told himself, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and skulked out of the hospital, he didn't need anybody. He could make it on his own, after all, he'd made it this far. And if Kaiba hadn't found him, well, he would've gotten around to getting up and going to the hospital eventually. He always had before. He'd had to learn how to deal with things himself, even since his mother had abandoned him, and it had been a long six years since then.

Now that he wasn't bleeding anymore, he felt so much better, more capable of controlling his actions. So he strode with his characteristic confidence through Domino's midnight streets, unsurprised to see a handful of figures prowling the darkness. After all, this was the worst part of town. Where drug deals and prostitution and robbery burned like a perverse wildfire even into the twilight. It was Thursday night, maybe early Friday morning, and although much of the nightlife had died down by now, there was a nocturnal lust that festered on these streets. He liked it. It was easy to get what you needed here.

As he approached the corner of his street, he cast an anxious look over his shoulder, just to make sure that nobody was following him. This was out of instinct and habit; everybody knew where he lived and everybody knew his dad and everybody knew better than to fuck with him, so he didn't need to be too suspicious. But it hadn't always been that way.

It was when he stood on the front step of his apartment building that the unease started to settle in. With the slightest tremor in his hand, he unlocked the heavy door and swung it open. It clanged shut behind him, and he suddenly felt very exposed, all alone in the lobby.

These oppressive concrete walls couldn't comfort anyone, though they were coated in peeling pale blue paint. He remembered the day they were freshly painted, the whole apartment block smelled of wet paint and he'd accidentally stained his shirt with it and his dad had hit him, and his mother left to get some things from the store. She had never really been around much. She was flaky. Like paint. The stained beige carpet beneath his feet had been wasted on this building; now it was all shades of dirt and grey, painted with old vomit stains and startlingly bright patches where somebody had scrubbed away filth or blood.

He took the steps two at a time, clutching the railings so hard that their rust imprinted on his palm. When he'd been younger, and locked out of the apartment, he'd often played in the stairwell. Sometimes on the roof, sometimes in the trash - people threw out good food. And when he'd wanted to hide, he had taken the elevator down to the basement and lurked in the underused utility room, with the flickering lightbulb and damp moss.

Panting a little, he hesitated, then made the left towards his front door. The corridor suddenly seemed a million miles long. His heart was in his throat. His dad would be angry. More than angry. And he'd end up back in hospital again. It was a pointless cycle. He should've just died lying in the garbage. Kaiba had said that would've been a fitting end. He was right.

He stopped, pressed his ear against the door, held his breath, listened. Most people were asleep by now, and all was very quiet. Upstairs he could hear people having sex. Other than that… silence. Either his dad was out, or he was asleep, and he didn't really want to run the risk of waking him up. He knelt, pushed open the letter flap, and peered through. His dad's boots weren't by the door. So he was out. With an intense feeling of relief - one he could never get enough of - he stood up again, thrust his key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.

He'd have to hurry. If his dad was out drinking, he would be home soon, and there would be hell to pay if he got caught.

He made a mad dash across the tiny living room to his bedroom, smashing a bottle when he stamped on it. Hopefully the bastard would trip and fuck his face up, then maybe he'd learn a lesson. Jounouchi didn't believe in forgiveness but he did believe in revenge. He was way too small to take his dad on - plus he needed to use this apartment from time to time - but he could pray for something bad to happen to him. And he did. Fervently.

With reckless abandon he flung open his bedroom door and it slammed into the adjacent wall. This room was way too small, but that only made it easier to find things when he needed them. Shirt. There was one in his wardrobe. Clean. Unlike his father, he cared about his appearance. Then he caught sight of himself in the cracked mirror on the back of his wardrobe door.

"That _bastard_."

If he looked this bad now, he didn't even want to think about what he had looked like when Kaiba found him. He stuffed his shirt into his schoolbag, grabbed his jacket, and sprinted to the bathroom to get a better look. The light came on after he rattled the switch for the third time. He leaned closer to the dirty mirror, and grimaced. His nose wasn't crooked, and that was the one good point. A lumpy purple bruise sat in his right eyesocket, and his eyelids were still swollen. His nose was red, the bridge was all scraped, and a spatter of dried blood lingered on his lower lip. He rinsed it away with some cold water.

No more time. He could fix it some more tomorrow in the school bathrooms if he needed to. Bundling his jacket and bag close to his chest, he bolted.

He was halfway down the second staircase when he heard the main door of the building slam shut. He froze. He was certain his heart had just stopped. From here, he could peer over the railings, and when he did so, he saw his dad. Oh, that was _just _his _fucking _luck, wasn't it? Thinking on his feet, he darted back up the stairs and disappeared into the janitor's cupboard.

It was cramped in here. When he tried to turn around to lock the door, he almost knocked over a bucket. Mercifully he caught it with his free hand, and then he slipped the rusted bolt into its catch. And, as he had become accustomed to doing, he listened. Heavy footfalls approached him, clanging on the iron stairs, and then they slowly got quieter. He heard the sound of a door swinging shut. Around a minute later, he heard an angry yowl, and hoped that his dad had stepped on the broken bottle. He waited there for another half hour, reasoning that his father would've passed out by then. He checked his watch. The digital display glared back at him. It was two in the morning.

The closet door opened with the tiniest squeak, and then he was gone. It was his mad dash for freedom; as he leapt down the stairs he felt an exhilaration building in him that he couldn't even explain. It didn't even make sense. He was going to spend his night on concrete, maybe catch a scant few hours of sleep, then he had school in the morning, his face was fucked up, and _Kaiba_ would be there.

Then he thought, maybe that was the reason he felt so excited…


	4. Days Like These

Jounouchi woke up next to a dumpster.

Various things occurred to him at once: every inch of him felt like it had been tied in knots all night, he could taste blood on his lips, and he was ravenously hungry. He checked his watch. It was six a.m., so he'd slept for… what, three hours? He was feeling pretty damn good, given the situation, and so he gave a huge, content yawn, and stretched out his aching body. His joints all popped. He'd had a crushed cardboard box as his mattress and a jacket to cover him, so it had been uncomfortable. But most nights were.

He rolled over, then dragged himself to his feet, rubbing his eyes blearily. He had a plan for this morning, and he needed to get going as soon as possible. So he pulled off his blazer and still-bloodstained shirt, then dug around in his bag for the shirt he'd put in there only a few hours before. He pulled it on, smoothed his front down to hide the majority of its creases, then put back on his blazer and jacket. He didn't have a mirror, but he could hope that he was looking sharp. He gave his face a quick wipe down with the cleanest part of his bloody shirt, then discarded it, tossing it into the dumpster. He wasn't fond of throwing things away, but that shirt had seen far better days.

Grabbing his bag, he set off, strolling down the alleyway with such self-assurance that it was obvious this was all perfectly routine and normal for him. When he emerged onto the streets proper, the sun had already risen, and it was blazing clear and bright in the crystalline sky. This was definitely, beyond a doubt, a good omen. Today was going to be a _good_ day.

There was hardly anybody else out yet - he passed a few people: dog walkers, businessmen, newspaper kids, who smiled to him. Some said good morning. He felt like part of some secret club, whose members woke up at ungodly hours because they had _important things_ to do. He liked it. And nobody was staring at his face in horror, so obviously he couldn't have looked too beat up.

He kept on walking, stretching out his sore legs, and then suddenly he made a sharp left down a side street. The drugstore was down here. He hadn't intended to pick up his pills, but he figured it'd probably be a good idea. He stopped at its door, and checked the little sign in the window - "Open 6am - 6pm weekdays." It was around a quarter past six. His luck was definitely picking up, he thought with a grin, as he pushed open the door (its bell tinkled and announced his arrival) and stepped inside.

The little shop was cramped with shelves full of various medicines and ointments. There was nobody here but for him and a tired-looking lady behind the counter, who was leaning back in her chair and reading a knitting magazine. After a few moments she seemed to come around to realising that there was a customer here with her, so she closed her magazine and laid it down on the counter.

"Hi," she said, and gave him a little smile, "can I help you?"

"Yeah," he said, except it didn't really come out right. Kind of sounded like he'd just barked at her. Startled, he cleared his throat. "Sorry! Uh, I got this prescription from the hospital," he said, walking up to the counter and laying down the crumpled piece of paper. She took it from him, still smiling, and smoothed it down so she could actually read what it said.

"Alright… Diclofenac, and Amoxil. I'll be right back," she said, then she turned and headed into the back room. Jounouchi stood there, mildly confused. He'd never really gotten any prescription drugs before. She came back after a few moments, and put down two pill bottles on the counter. One was small and white with a white lid. The other was a lot bigger, and it was white with a red lid.

"Uh… so. What is this stuff?"

She gave a little laugh. "Most people know what their prescription is for." Then, once she caught sight of the despondent look on his face, her grin intensified. "It's really simple, I'll explain."

Tapping the red lid of the bigger bottle, she said, "This one is Amoxil. It's an antibiotic, it'll fight infections in your nose. You have to take it once in the morning, once in the afternoon and once in the evening. Every day. For ten days. Instructions are on the label." Jounouchi nodded slowly at each new nugget of information. He was pretty sure he got it.

Then she pointed to the smaller bottle. "This is Diclofenac. It's a painkiller. Makes things hurt less, obviously. With this, you just pop one pill if you're in pain, but you shouldn't take more than four pills a day, and don't take them all in one go. One every few hours. If you overdose on either, get to the emergency room. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks a ton… oh, is this stuff free?"

"Hm? Oh, if you're under eighteen then yeah, no charge. You're under eighteen, right?"

"Yeah." And if he wasn't, he would've lied, because his wallet was more barren than the Sahara Desert. He opened up his bag, scooped the bottles inside, thanked the lady again, and left.

He felt very accomplished so far. He'd never gotten a prescription before! Now it was half six. He was hungry. _So_ hungry. He hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon, and a hungry Jounouchi was a cranky, mean one. Plus his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and his throat was like sandpaper; he needed water, too.

There was a grocery store in this part of town that he'd never really been to before, but he had always wanted to as a kid. And once he was standing outside it, he remembered why. Beneath the red and white striped awning were crates of brightly coloured fruits and vibrantly green and leafy vegetables, things he couldn't afford in a million years, but the sight and smell of them made his mouth water. The front of the store was painted bright yellow, and it was just all so cute. And so unlike anything in his usual experience of the world.

When he walked in, a man in a green apron who had been stacking shelves turned and smiled at him. "Morning! You're up early today!"

Jounouchi grinned. Everybody was so cheery, what the hell was going on? "Morning," he said, then looking slightly awestruck, he prowled the aisles looking for something he could afford to eat rather than just marvel at. He had never really been to a proper grocery store before. He had never seen this much food all in one place. And he had never been able to _choose _what he wanted to eat rather than just having it handed to him. He wanted to buy everything and hoard it.

Eventually he came around to realising that his budget didn't stretch quite that far, so he settled on a big bottle of strawberry flavoured water (he didn't know water came in _flavours_), a pot of jam and the cheapest loaf of white bread he could find. He also picked up some plastic knives because he didn't really want jam all over his hands/face/everywhere. Ten jam sandwiches for breakfast. Hell. Yes.

He practically emptied out his wallet for the clerk, who just smiled at him and handed him his paper bag full of deliciousness. His stomach roared in anticipation.

With an increasing wildness in his hungry eyes, he dashed one block over to the nearby park. By now it was approaching seven, and there were a few more people around than earlier - mostly joggers here, and nobody he recognised. That was probably for the best. He threw himself onto a bench near a little duckpond.

This quickly proved to have been a mistake. Obviously the city's ducks too had their minds set on food. With little quacks, a group of around ten of the birds advanced on him. One of them yawned widely, and then scrabbled out of the water to catch up with its friends. Jounouchi thought this was mildly cute, but still, the bastards weren't getting any of his breakfast.

But first: pills. He struggled for a moment with the child safety catches on both of the bottles, then withdrew one each of the antibiotic and the painkiller. One was blue. One was white. The bottles went back in his bag, the pills went in his mouth, and with a swig of deliciously artificial strawberry water, he swallowed them. He felt better already.

Then: food. He broke the seal on the bread, slathered a thick layer of gloopy jam onto one slice, and then mushed it with another to create the most holy of foods: the jam sandwich. He could have fainted with joy when he took the first bite. Food. Sustenance. He hadn't had one of these since he was much younger. It tasted like his childhood.

A little more insistent quacking woke him abruptly from his near-catatonic state of food euphoria. One duck was chewing at his shoelaces. He swallowed, licked crumbs from his lips, and then stared down at his little crowd.

"Geez, can't you give a guy a break?"

Quack.

So he broke off his crusts and shared them around.


	5. Love and Trust

**Warning: **Violence.

* * *

><p>With a sated belly, and a fuzzy feeling that was mostly duck-related, Jounouchi was almost <em>bounding<em> down the street. He'd regained the distinguishing spring in his step that he'd been somewhat lacking, since last night. School didn't start for another hour, but he needed to get there early so he could fix himself up so that he looked entirely like absolutely nothing was wrong. And he was an expert at that.

As he passed under school's front archway, he couldn't help but notice - as he did every time - that it was really creepy here when nobody else was around. It was kind of like he shouldn't have been there. But this didn't appear to faze him; nothing, _nothing_ was going to ruin his mood today. He wouldn't let it. He pushed open the main doors and they gave their usual squeak, opening into the cool corridors. The lights weren't on yet, but the windows let in huge diamonds of bright sunlight. His feet were quiet on the tiles as he strolled down the hall, up the stairs, then left to the boys' bathroom on the first floor.

Leaning on the sink, its porcelain cool under his hands, he looked himself in the eye. Not too shabby, if he did say so himself. His eye wasn't so swollen any more, and the bruise had faded from an intense mauve to a kind of lilacy red. It was still apparent, but it didn't look so awful. There wasn't so much as a trace of blood on his face, his clothes were mostly clean, and nobody could have guessed at the night he'd had. He liked that. So he splashed his face with cold water, dried it gently on paper towel, and then headed to his classroom.

When he sat down at his desk, in his classroom, he felt almost elated. He was far from where his dad could hurt him. He had eaten. He had medicine. And he was going to see Kaiba today, which would be, at the very least, entertaining.

Then, fully satisfied, he lay his head down on his desk and fell straight to sleep.

It was Yuugi's hand on his shoulder that woke him, and when he turned his head to look up at his friend, they were both smiling. Then Yuugi saw his bruise, and his expression set immediately into one of concern.

"Jounouchi? Did you get hurt last night?"

"It's nothing, Yuugi, I swear," he said, keeping up that now slightly strained smile. Yuugi's eyebrows slanted, but he accepted this after a moment.

"Alright. Class starts soon."

"Talk later," Jounouchi said, then he pushed himself up to sit straight in his seat. He looked around. Most people were here by now… but Kaiba was notably absent.

A weight settled in Jounouchi's chest. This was not okay with him. This was a flaw in his perfect day.

Hours passed. Lessons dragged on so that he felt like he was crawling through a swamp of arithmetic and literature. He didn't really care about making notes. He didn't really care about exercise 4B page 63. He had been let down. Again. He felt like an idiot. Kaiba didn't _like_ him, he didn't want to _see_ him, and he sure as hell wasn't _thinking_ about him, so why had he started to weave tiny fibres of trust towards him?

(Jounouchi was wrong in that last assumption; at that particular moment, Kaiba was dreaming of him, but that much was unbeknownst to him).

At lunch, all he could do was spork his food irritably.

"Not eating, Jounouchi?" Honda said, elbowing his buddy in the ribs. "Aren't you _always_ hungry?"

Jounouchi tore the foil lid from his pudding cup with considerably more force than necessary, then dug at it sadistically. The chocolate gloop raised his spirits. But only a little.

Last period was study hall. He didn't want to sit around for an hour not doing anything, and he was pissed off, so he felt like going home. His dad wasn't around during the day, so it would be safe. He could open up his bedroom window and sit on the sill and watch the cars go by. He didn't take drugs, and he didn't drink or smoke, so his stress relievers were a little less orthodox.

Anzu tried to stop him, which was admirable, but a waste of time. "You can't skip school, Jounouchi, it's irresponsible!" He smiled at her.

"I'm not the responsible one. That'd be you," he said, then shrugged, and walked right past her. She shook her head and sighed. He was sure he heard her mutter, "That boy…" as he strode off.

Most people were at work or at school, so the sunbaked streets were quiet, save for the rustling of tree branches and the clink of discarded cans tossed by the wind. Quiet. He enjoyed the quiet, but only when it wasn't like the calm before a storm.

The doors to his apartment building were warm under his hands as he pushed them open. The lobby was stiflingly hot; their air con had given up the ghost a _long _time ago. His footsteps clanged on the stairs as he stamped to the third floor. He didn't even bother to check through the letterbox. He didn't even think. He just wanted to lie the fuck down or something, so he unlocked the door then shouldered it open. He slammed it behind him.

And then, he turned, and there was his dad. Sleeping in his chair. The sun further accentuated the fact that he was an ugly fat bastard.

More to the point, Jounouchi gaped in horror. His dad was _never_ home in the daytime. Not ever. All his misconceptions about home being a 'safe place' as long as the sun was shining dissipated into the thin air.

"Hnngh?"

Dad's bloodshot eyes flicked open and stared him down. Jounouchi didn't like being leered at. Finally his gaze settled on his schoolbag.

"What's in your bag, kid? Somethin' good?" His dad's gruff voice set his teeth on edge.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me, you little shit," his dad said, as he hauled himself out of his beaten old armchair and clumped over to him. He was sober. Relatively sober. And that was when he was most dangerous. Jounouchi watched, fixing his father with an impassive look that he thought might mask his fear, and the anticipation of hurt and heavy hands on him. His dad was smiling. As he drew nearer, Jounouchi could just smell the reek of beer and stale smoke pouring from his crooked mouth. "Whassa matter? You scared?"

Jounouchi shook his head, though in truth he was rooted to the spot. He could feel his heart thrashing a frantic beat against his ribcage, like it was making a desperate bid for freedom. Still he stared defiantly at his dad's smug face.

Then everything turned.

The flat of his father's hand hit him so hard across his ear that he fell clean over; he was sure he had felt his eardrum explode. It felt like someone had just smashed a chisel through the left side of his skull. He didn't make a sound, but instead just lay there, looking at the ground. He could taste carpet and blood.

"I said don't _fucking_ lie to me! I know you got something!" His dad leaned down, which was considerable effort for him, and leered at his son. "So hand it over," he growled, right in Jounouchi's pounding ear. Then Jounouchi reached for his bag, unfastened it, tipped its contents onto the grubby living room carpet. Two pill bottles. Books. An assorted debris of stationery.

His father clasped the pill bottles, one in each of his fat fists. One hand was red with the force of hitting him. Those pills weren't worth it. Nothing was worth this.

"Pills?" His father laughed, a wheezing rumble of a laugh, "_Pills_? What were you gonna use those for? Stupid kid." He nudged Jounouchi's stomach with just the toe of his steel-capped boots and, not wanting to be hurt anymore, Jounouchi rolled over obediently. But he kept his face steely. He might as well have been dead. A few seconds passed. Jounouchi could practically hear the cogs turning deep within his dad's thick skull.

"Wait... this one says antibiotics. You went to the hospital?"

"Yes," Jounouchi answered quickly. It was not a good idea to make his dad wait for an answer, and it was an even worse idea to lie. Especially not when he was lying on the floor at his feet.

"You… you… did you tell them? I swear to God if you told them _anything _I'm gonna skin you alive, you worthless bastard." From here he could see his father's purple face twisting; the self-assured smirk from earlier had vanished. It had been replaced with gritted teeth and a red mouth turned in a frown. His nostrils were flared. He enjoyed watching his father grapple with his own fears.

" I told them I fell down the stairs," he said, trying to steady his voice, though it wanted to tremble in anger and fear. His father's eyes narrowed. His grip on the pill bottles tightened until Jounouchi thought he was going to reduce them to dust. _Please, God, whatever he's going to do to me, just let it be over quickly._

"Is that the truth?"

"I swear."

"Alright. Get the fuck outta here. I don't wanna see you round here for a while, you got that, kid?"

"I got it," Jounouchi croaked. He gathered his school things with difficulty and stuffed them back into his bag. Then he forced himself to stand. The world swam around him. His left ear was ringing with the impact of being thrashed. Suddenly a wave of acid rose in his throat and he forced it down. If he was going to be sick it had to be out of here. One hand to his stinging ear, he staggered out the door and threw it shut behind him.

He wanted to fucking _kill _somebody. He wanted to shout, cry, throw himself down the stairs, punch the walls, set something on fire.

Instead he just threw up.

Once his stomach was empty, he walked down the hall. Slowly. He kept one hand on the wall at all times to steady himself. His ear hurt, but it wasn't the excruciating pain associated with a burst eardrum. Thank God. He didn't need another trip to the emergency room. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse, he thought, as he stared at the stairs. He would never make it down there on foot.

So he sat down on the top step and shuffled down on his butt, feeling more and more like a child with each step. In fact he found himself smiling, a kind of world-weary smile that was more sad and nostalgic than it was happy. He didn't feel so dizzy when he was closer to the ground, not so shaky any more. Once he'd reached the bottom of the staircase, he tumbled off the last step and landed in a heap. He pushed himself upward, propped his shoulders against the wall. This had started out as such a _good_ day…

He sat in the lobby for a very long time.


	6. I Don't Ask Why Anymore

**Warning: **Violence.

* * *

><p>When Jounouchi eventually snapped out of his stupor, it was chill and quiet. He could still smell hot plastic and baking carpet, it lingered, but he was almost shivering from the cold. He swallowed dryly to soothe his aching throat, and heard a kind of rustling sound in his left ear. It didn't hurt any more. Outside, he could just see if he turned his head - pain throbbed in his neck as he did so - it was nighttime. He sighed deeply, and his lungs crackled. He had to get out of here.<p>

With the flat of one forearm against the wall to steady himself, he climbed carefully to his feet, stretching out his back reluctantly. Each vertebra cracked in turn. With a grimace, he straightened fully, ignoring the tight, burning pain between his shoulderblades. His back hadn't taken to him crumpling into a tense, twitching heap and staying there for hours. Now his palm was pressed against the cool wall, and he thought of what he should do.

He couldn't come back here, not until he knew it was safe, and that could potentially be never. All his stuff was here. His clothes, his food stash, his fucking _toothbrush_. All his urgent needs depended largely on money. He didn't have a job any more and his wallet had been officially empty as of this morning. He checked his watch. Eleven. The night was young, and there were more than enough ways to make a quick buck in this part of town.

So he left, shunting open the heavy doors, and sauntered onto the streets. If he remembered correctly, he had a kind-of-friend who knew a dealer who needed a bagman. The guy lived nearby, he'd heard. He stuffed one cold fist into his pocket with his wallet. The other was clutching the handle of his schoolbag, which contained what were now his only worldly possessions: his books. They were more precious to him now than they ever had been before.

With the promise of money quickly approaching, he wasn't feeling quite so rough any more. He slowed in front of a house slicked in graffiti, with boarded-up windows and a debris of smashed bottles that crunched and glittered beneath his feet when he strode up to the doorstep. He was pretty sure this was the right address, but a lot of places looked similar to this. He squashed his conscience that was screaming "Don't do it, Jounouchi," at him, and then pounded the door.

It flew open after a brief moment, and a man was pointing a gun in his face. Jounouchi cocked his head, with an easy smirk, and the guy relaxed immediately. "Jounouchi! I thought you were the police. You gave me a scare, kiddo. You wanna come inside?"

Jounouchi followed him indoors, though this was not a very appealing offer. The dingy hall was cramped, the wallpaper was dark, stained, and peeling, and the scent of sex and pot smoke were both thick in the air. He could hardly see anything but for the dim silhouette of the guy who had answered the door for him, and he followed him through into a tiny living room. There was a sofa. A girl was sitting at one end. She wasn't wearing many clothes. Jounouchi found this mildly interesting, but he knew she wasn't his to touch. Only to look at. True to his suspicion, the man sat down beside her and put one of his thick arms around her shoulders. She leaned into him. Jounouchi pitied her.

"Sit down, sit down. I've heard a lot about you, kid. I'm Matsuo."

"Nice to meet you," Jounouchi said, though in reality it hadn't been particularly pleasant. Matsuo was no longer holding the gun. This set him slightly at ease. He sat down on the sofa, which sank a couple of inches beneath him. It smelled of piss.

"So. You here for work or something?"

"That's right. Friend of mine told me you needed a bagman."

"You're in luck, kid." Stop calling me kid, Jounouchi thought, but he let it slide because this guy was bigger and nastier than he was. "I got a _client_ in another part of town who ain't paid up just yet. He owes me… say fifty thousand yen. If you go get the money then I'll give you a cut. A generous cut if you're quick."

"Alright. Thanks a lot," Jounouchi said, and waited as Matsuo scrawled down the address for him. With a nod to the lady, he left, shouldering open the front door (and fully expecting it to fall right off its hinges) and then emerging onto the streets once again. As the door clicked shut behind him, he checked the address.

That lazy bastard. The guy lived about two streets away! Jounouchi had done runs like this before. Probably Matsuo was afraid of the target for some reason. But he _needed_ the _money_ even if it did involve putting himself in danger. So he walked. He looked as purposeful and courageous as he could. He could take this guy… probably.

He took the right down the back streets that he was so familiar with, and then as he drew nearer he could see the green back door of the guy's house, set into the left hand wall of the alleyway. He probably needed a weapon. Further ahead there was a skip, probably full of trash from the nearby demolition site. Nothing wrong with recycling, Jounouchi thought, as he stashed his bag safely behind two trashcans and bounded up to the skip.

With a heave, he hauled himself up and onto the edge of the container, where he sat and peered down into the refuse beneath. As a kid, this would've provided him with days of entertainment. Now that his innocence had been strangled out of him, all he saw were weapons. He leaned down and his fingers closed around a length of iron piping, and he smirked. Then, before anybody spotted him (he doubted very much that would happen, but one could never be too cautious), he hopped down and disappeared again into the alley.

He listened with his good ear to the door for a very long time. He couldn't hear anything from inside, except for the steady dripping of a tap. So this door led into a kitchen or utility room. He drew back, and inspected it. Only a padlock impeded his entry; he could see a sandy patch where the old lock had once been. It must've been smashed off.

Old habits die hard, Jounouchi knew that well, and although he didn't burgle any more, when he opened his wallet and checked for it, his trusty padlock shim was still there. He'd made it from a coke can years ago; an older boy had shown him how. And since then he'd used it for all sorts. He'd heard that shims made from aluminium cans didn't last long, but his defied that. He held his iron pipe beneath his arm as he prepared to pick the lock.

He wriggled part of the shim into the base of the padlock shackle, a slight snarl disrupting his stare of perfect concentration as he had to wriggle it to get it in. When it finally stuck in place, he sighed contentedly. Then he twisted the shim with one fluid, and obviously thoroughly practiced, motion. The padlock clicked open, and his shim was bent out of shape when it fell back into his palm, but he could reform it. It, like everything else he owned, was all kinds of beat up. He put the padlock and the shim in his wallet, which went back into his pocket, and he gripped the end of the iron pipe as he tugged the stiff door open.

Again, he could hear only the plinking of a tap, and now the steady humming of a refrigerator. He shut the door almost silently behind him, and he couldn't resist tiptoeing over to the fridge and checking inside.

"Jesus…" he whispered. The shelves all held plastic baggies and airtight jars of weed. He warred with the urge to steal some, and shut the fridge door as quietly as he could. He was here on _business_.

He passed through the doorframe of the kitchen. It lacked a door, and a rusty nail prodded his arm but didn't tear his blazer. He threw his gaze around, but it was almost pitch black in here. There wasn't a light on upstairs that he could see. He checked the only other room on this floor - a little living room. Nobody was there. So the guy must have been upstairs.

Every house he'd ever robbed had squeaky stairs. He tested each step with excruciating care, aware that the slightest misstep would give him away. He was going to have to reveal himself eventually, obviously, but he wanted it to be on _his _terms. He took tentative steps onto the dark landing. There were three doors on the wall in front of him, and one behind him and to his left.

Mild fear started to rise in him as he approached the door furthest to the right. As usual, he listened, and heard nothing. He swallowed, then turned the handle. It didn't even click. He pushed open the door, and saw bathed in the glow of the streetlight outside: a single bed. There was a kid sleeping in it; Jounouchi wasn't sure, but he looked around ten years old. The boy rolled over in his sleep and Jounouchi could plainly see the bruises on his face. He closed the door again. Poor kid. Having a washed-up, broke drug addict as a dad was no fun. Bastard probably beat his son just like his own dad did. He was going to enjoy this.

The next door, the middle one, was a bathroom, and the far left door was a kind of study. So his target slept in the room behind him. He turned around, twisted his grip on the iron pipe, and listened at the door. Silence. He opened it just a crack, and listened again. He could hear someone's snuffly breathing. So he slipped inside the room, and assessed the surroundings.

It was small, and had a wide window on the far wall, kind of like his own bedroom. The man was sleeping on a double bed squashed into the corner of the room, which took up around half of the available space. He was alone. Jounouchi shut the door behind him with a click. Then he strode up to the bed, sat on its edge, and clamped his hand over the mouth of the sleeping man. He woke up with a jolt, and the look of confusion and terror in his wide, pale eyes was gratifying.

"If you do as I say, then I won't have to smash your skull in, you got that?" Jounouchi said, flashing the iron piping. His voice was calm, but it lilted with a kind of murderous intent that left the man shaking.

"Mhm."

"Alright. Word is that you owe somebody some cash. Judging from the contents of your fridge, you're a dealer, so I know you got plenty of _that_ lying around. Fifty thousand yen. Pay up."

Jounouchi released him. He clambered out of bed, and dashed to the other side of the room. Jounouchi followed him, of course, hitting the pipe against the flat of his hand in waiting. The man thrust a bundle of five thousand yen notes at him, and Jounouchi took it, nodded his approval, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Nice one. By the way, is that your kid in the other room?"

"Yeah."

"How did he get all beat up?"

The man looked at him for a second. Jounouchi could tell he was sizing him up. He sneered.

"Answer me, you bastard."

"I did it."

Barely were the words out of his mouth that Jounouchi had smashed his teeth in with the pipe. He had time to bring the pipe down again with a satisfying crack against the bastard's skull, before the commotion woke up his kid, who was yelling "Dad?" as Jounouchi sprinted. His heart was pounding in his throat as he fled into the alleyway, grabbed his bag, and pounded the fifteen minute journey back to Matsuo's place. There was blood on his face, he could tell.

The guy wouldn't have died. Jounouchi had been beaten with crowbars and all kinds of things way worse than that. But hopefully he would've learned a lasting lesson.

Two knocks, and Matsuo was at the door. Jounouchi bundled the money into his open palms.

"You did good, kid. Looks like you fucked him up, too," Matsuo said, gesturing to the bloodstains on Joey's face.

"Bastard deserved it."

"Ain't that right. Now you take this for your trouble," he said, as he took three crisp notes and handed them to him. Fifteen thousand yen. He could've fainted.

"Thanks." The door closed in his face. His watch said one a.m., he noticed, as he tucked the notes into his wallet with an uneasy sense of pride. He wasn't too book smart, but he sure as hell knew how to get what he needed. Right now, he needed to sleep, so he turned and strode off in search of a cosy little place to call his own for the night.


	7. Even The Score

Jounouchi's weekend passed relatively uneventfully in comparison to his Friday night. With his newly acquired money, he had bought new, clean shirts, he'd had his school blazer laundered so that he didn't look like he'd been sleeping rough in it, even though he, of course, had, and he had bought _so_ much food that he had kind of scared the clerk. He'd also found an abandoned warehouse near the edge of town where he was keeping all his stuff. When he'd tested one of the light switches, the bulb had exploded. He'd thought that was really cool, though he remembered to not try turning the lights on again. Now he had two cardboard boxes full of non-perishables, water, clothes, and other essentials he'd bought to keep himself clean with. He'd even dragged in a (kind of gross) mattress and covered it in a blanket so that he wouldn't have to sleep on the dirty floor.

Life was good, he thought to himself, as he lay belly-up on his sagging mattress, staring at the ceiling. It was so high that it could've been a million miles away. It got really hot in here, so he was just in his boxers, slowly cooking in the stifling heat. He took a deep breath of the delicious stale air, and then sighed. He groped around on the floor nearby for his watch, and brought it to eye level: four p.m., Sunday afternoon. Sunday afternoons were the worst, he thought, as he rolled over and set his watch back down next to his clothes. Now he was bundled into a little ball, facing the door and smelling the sweet scent of old, used mattress.

He had school tomorrow. He also had homework to do, he remembered. As a rattling cough wracked him for a few minutes, he figured his stupid homework could wait until he got better. He thought he was getting a cold; his throat had been hurting since Friday and now he felt like pure unadulterated shit. His cough made his nose feel like it was going to explode, and he lay there shaking once it had passed. He wished he had those painkillers. Or the antibiotics. He wondered who had them now; his dad had obviously sold them to somebody. It occurred to him that he could go and get more pills, but that would involve moving, and he didn't really want to do that right now.

Near five, he passed out for a while.

When he came to, he could see only that it was dark. He lay very still and let his eyes focus, then his gaze settled on the blaring green display of his watch. Ten at night. He already knew he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep; usually he slept in alleyways where there was a fluorescent light on, and he found it comforting. Here, there were no lights. He made a mental note to buy a torch or something tomorrow. Then he sat up, stiffened, and listened.

Cars rumbled. An owl hooted. Somewhere far away, he could hear the thrum and throb of a club. There weren't any people nearby. He told himself he was being stupid for thinking otherwise - why the hell would anybody come out here? There were better places to spend the night in the inner city, he knew that. He figured that going for a walk might soothe his nerves, so he rolled off his mattress and got himself dressed. He thought, with a smirk as he did so, that he was used to getting dressed in the dark, for a variety of reasons.

Clothed, he stumbled out the rusting door. His feet crunched on dry grass. When he threw his gaze to his right, he could see a field that stretched on for as far as he could see. At the end of that field, the landscape transformed into farmland and countryside. He would have to go down there someday, but tonight he felt like heading into the city. So his feet took him towards the outskirts of town, and once his feet met pavement he felt better immediately.

This was on the other side of town to where his dad lived, so there was a precious safety in being here. The alleyways were a little narrower than the ones he usually habited, but that didn't bother him because he was heading for a busier, wider street. There would be more people around, and he would feel less isolated.

He'd thought that, anyway, but when he emerged onto the high street, there was almost nobody around. Feeling slightly bemused by this, but taking it in his stride, Jounouchi turned right of random volition and kept on walking.

Meanwhile, a boy was pointing a flick knife at Kaiba.

This didn't seem to faze him even remotely. In fact, he raised an eyebrow, asking without words: exactly what do you intend to do with _that_?

"Gimme your money."

Kaiba did not particularly want to give anybody any amount of his money. "No," he said. He considered briefly turning to walk away, but he didn't want to get stabbed in the back.

"Listen up, you bastard," the boy snarled as he loped closer, "do you want a fucking stabbing?" The knife glinted vaguely in the amber streetlight glow.

Kaiba swallowed. He was feeling scared, but he wouldn't let it show. "Obviously not," he said curtly.

"Then cut your bullshit and give me your fucking money. Then nobody has to get hurt. Right?" Now the boy was smiling at him, _leering_. He put his hand on Kaiba's shoulder. Like they were friends.

And then suddenly he was howling in pain as someone dragged him away by his hair; he was flailing and in the confusion he dropped the knife, and it skidded to Kaiba's feet. Kaiba kicked it away towards nearby trashcans, and then stared in confusion at his apparent saviour.

"You just made," Jounouchi growled at the boy who lay now shaking at his feet, "a _big. Fucking. Mistake._" With each word, Jounouchi sank his foot into the kid's stomach. A sick smile twisted his features as he thought of all the things he could do; he had a lot of frustrations and fears and here was his punching bag.

"Jounouchi. Stop it." Jounouchi threw Kaiba a cursory glance, but still he kicked the boy in the side of the head a final time. "For God's sake. You're insane." Jounouchi then stared back at Kaiba, the streetlamps throwing his face into awkward light. A little blood spurt anointed his cheekbone.

"Go home. Okay? Just go the fuck home," he snapped. Why was Kaiba here? Why would he put himself in danger like that? What an idiot.

Kaiba wanted to ask him why he was so angry, but at the same time, he could tell that this was a question better left unasked. "Alright. Thanks."

He turned to leave. He was sure that once he turned the corner he'd hear once again the sound of pummelled flesh, but he didn't. Instead, after he'd been walking for about ten minutes, behind him he could hear pounding feet, and he froze. Somebody was after him. He was never going to go out at night again.

Eventually his pursuer caught up to him. Jounouchi doubled over, panting.

"You ran all that way?"

He nodded.

"…Why?"

Shortly, Jounouchi straightened up, one arm across his side, holding his side stitch.

"We're even now."

Kaiba considered this for a moment, and then nodded. Jounouchi did not like to owe people favours. He didn't like to be indebted. He couldn't take gifts because he didn't fully understand the concept of not having to pay somebody back. Kaiba had helped him by taking him to hospital. And now he had repaid the favour.

"I didn't realise it mattered that much to you," Kaiba commented, but this wasn't something Jounouchi had any reply to. Kaiba had _no idea_.

"Well, goodbye then," Kaiba said eventually.

"Bye."

He walked away a few paces, then he stopped, and turned.

"Shouldn't you be going home too?"

Jounouchi scowled at him.

"Yeah. I guess. I mean, whatever. See you later."

They both then left, heading in opposite directions. Jounouchi wanted to shout at him, to ask him why he hadn't bothered to come to school on Friday, to tell him that he was a fucking idiot, to tell him that he didn't want to see him _anyway_, but instead he just walked. Kaiba was going home to a mansion. With food. With a comfortable bed. With walls and a roof and security. And Jounouchi, well, he was going to a crappy warehouse, but it had all of those things too. Kind of. And it was his own! That's right, Jounouchi thought, as he strode off with his head held high, he didn't need anybody to help him.

But he still would've rather gone home with Kaiba.


	8. Hero

"Jounouchi! Homework!"

His teacher was yelling. Jounouchi eventually, slowly, got around to realising that he was yelling at _him_. He turned his head, and grimaced as his neck twinged a painful objection. Class had started about an hour ago, he knew, but he had been completely zoned out since then. Whatever illness it was that he had was getting the better of him. His skin was clammy cold, all his nerves fizzed with a dull pain that dogged him until he could sleep - and the fever-fed nightmares were hellish. So he was tired. So, so tired.

"Jounouchi? Are you paying attention to me?"

"Yeah," he growled in response.

"Have you done your homework?"

"No."

His teacher sighed. "That's a detention for you, then. After school." Jounouchi rasped his disapproval. He wanted to go 'home' and curl up on his secondhand mattress and die.

Kaiba watched this scene with some interest. It hadn't escaped his - or anybody else's - notice that Jounouchi was looking run down today. There were bags under his deadened eyes, and his black eye was fading to ugly green. His nose was red and so were his cheeks, so he looked feverish, and he was drooping over his table like he was in danger of falling asleep. Kaiba thought Jounouchi an idiot for coming into school today at all.

Sharp-eyed, Kaiba watched as their teacher walked down each row, collecting homework from those who had done it. So far, everyone except Jounouchi and another kid in their class who never actually seemed to do _any_ work had handed something in. The teacher stopped at his desk. Kaiba looked up at him, and said, "I haven't done my homework, sir."

This caused a little stir. Even Jounouchi dragged himself out of his stupor to turn his head to Kaiba in confusion. Generally, Kaiba did his work.

"So! You'll be joining Jounouchi and Shouta in detention today, then."

Kaiba nodded curtly. Mokuba had been ill, he'd only gotten better on Sunday, and then his adoptive father had started being _difficult_… he hadn't had timeto do his homework. Detention didn't particularly bother him, though; he was used to injustices and it was only an hour of wasted time anyway.

When the lunch bell went, Jounouchi's forehead clunked against his desk and he fell straight asleep. His friends thought better to wake him, so they left, and one by one people filtered out of the room until it was just Kaiba and Jounouchi. Slowly, quietly, Kaiba stood, and walked to Jounouchi's desk. He looked down with an expression that said nothing. But he felt a gentle kind of pity; some shred of concern smouldered in him. Jounouchi twitched in his sleep. With a slanted smile, Kaiba left, turning out the light for him.

Jounouchi woke up in the middle of the next class. He didn't really know what was going on, all he knew was that hard desk didn't make such a nice pillow and that he felt like his head was going to explode. With considerable effort he forced himself upright, and looked around in a daze. A lot of things were blurry. He looked at his watch. It potentially could have said three o'clock. Their teacher for this class was apparently ignoring him, and he was totally okay with that. By now he felt slightly more awake. Marginally. Barely. Whatever he had, it was definitely worse than a cold. He couldn't even think right.

Class ended. Jounouchi hadn't really noticed. He was looking with vague interest at the rounded corner of his desk. Most of his class was gone by now. Their teacher left. Jounouchi felt kind of angry but he didn't really remember why. Then when he looked across at Kaiba he vaguely recalled… something. He'd had a bad weekend. It was Kaiba's fault, somehow.

He remembered.

"You didn't come to school on Friday." His voice scratched across the room.

"I… I was ill."

Jounouchi settled his cheek on his desk and grinned at him.

"Poor you."

Kaiba sighed, and returned to his textbook. Jounouchi had nothing to do but sit there and wait. The teacher from earlier arrived, the bastard who had given him detention. Jounouchi frowned at him but apparently he didn't see. Leaning back in his seat, he looked out of the window. The bright light made him need to sneeze. So he did.

Then when he looked at his hands, he was holding a lot of blood. It dripped onto the table.

Kaiba looked up from his book and noticed this.

"Sir… I think Jounouchi needs to go to the nurse."

Jounouchi was now shaking his hands clean and spraying blood everywhere.

"I… yes, uh, take him, would you?"

The teacher was looking awfully pale.

Kaiba stood and Jounouchi thought probably he should do that too. So he tried to stand up but his blood-slicked hand slipped on the surface of the desk and he nearly fell right back down again. But Kaiba was holding onto the back of his collar. After a second, he steadied himself, and brushed Kaiba away with a bloody hand. He didn't need help. At least, he didn't think so. Kaiba looked critically at Jounouchi's face: he was red, blood was dripping down his chin from his nose, and there was little but confusion in his shallow eyes.

"Come on," Kaiba said, reluctant to touch him even though he'd already got a handsome blood stain down his sleeve. Jounouchi staggered after him. Kaiba held open the door for him; this sentiment was completely wasted on Jounouchi who strode ahead of him towards the nurse's office. Kaiba rolled his eyes and followed.

"You got ill. How did that happen? Didn't the hospital prescribe you antibiotics?"

"It's nothing to do with you."

That was true, Kaiba thought, but he still wanted to know.

"I'm just trying to help you, you idiot."

"I don't want your help. And I'm not an idiot."

"Debatable," he said, reacting quickly to grab Jounouchi's arm as he slipped and nearly tumbled over.

"Why didn't you take your medicine?" he asked, as Jounouchi snatched his arm back and muttered something to the tune of, "Don't touch me."

"Because I thought it'd be _fun_ to get really fucking ill then spew blood everywhere," Jounouchi snapped at him. Kaiba rolled his eyes.

"Your wit is staggering."

"Shut up," Jounouchi snapped, and he forced back a smile. He was irritable, he was hurting, he was groggy and had just barely regained full consciousness. But Kaiba amused him.

Jounouchi stopped, abruptly, in front of the office door. He tried to look through the frosted glass but he couldn't see anything, so he knocked on the door with a bloody fist. A few beads of blood daubed its smooth surface.

Presently the nurse was at the door; she took a long look at Jounouchi and sighed.

"Have you been in _another _fight, Jounouchi?"

Jounouchi shook his head.

The nurse looked at Kaiba imploringly. "What's gone on, then?"

"He didn't take his antibiotics so he got ill," Kaiba said, and Jounouchi gave him a look that usually terrified people. It had no effect whatsoever on Kaiba. "He just sneezed a lot of blood."

"Alright. Come in, come in," she said, ushering Jounouchi inside. Then she said to Kaiba, "You come in too." Kaiba wasn't sure exactly why he had to be there, but it was preferable over going back to detention.

Plus he was kind of worried.

"Hold this to your nose to catch the blood," the nurse said, offering him gauze, "and lean forwards and pinch your nose."

Too many commands at once. Jounouchi's addled brain did not comprehend. Kaiba's hand was at the back of his head, gently tilting it forwards, and for a reason he couldn't understand, he didn't feel like biting it off. Blood dripped onto his lap. He looked for a moment at the wad of gauze in his hand, then slowly comprehension came, and he pressed it to his face.

"What are his symptoms?"

The nurse was talking to him. Kaiba wanted to tell her that he hardly _knew _Jounouchi, let alone had the slightest clue what was wrong with him, but instead he did his best.

"He's feverish… he seems really tired…"

Jounouchi gurgled. Kaiba interpreted this as, "He hurts."

Another gurgle. "A lot."

"You said he had antibiotics, right? Why were they prescribed? Was he ill before?"

"No. He had," Kaiba took note of, and then chose to ignore, Jounouchi's warning look, "a broken nose."

"Aha! So you _were_ fighting," the nurse exclaimed triumphantly.

"He fell down the stairs."

Inexplicable affection for Kaiba suddenly rose in Jounouchi. They both knew that wasn't the truth (though Kaiba didn't know the full story), but at least Kaiba was on his side. Even if he was a dick.

The nurse looked unimpressed by this. It would take a while for Jounouchi's nosebleed to stop: this was a prime lecturing opportunity, but apparently the boy had done nothing wrong.

"Why didn't you take the antibiotics?" she eventually said, watching Jounouchi's bent head with critical eyes. Obviously he was incapable of answering, so she went on, "That's really irresponsible, you know, Jounouchi. Really, it's your own fault that you got ill. I mean -"

"Shut up," Jounouchi barked at her. His eyes were wide, set and angry. Kaiba was seething next to him; although he did agree with the nurse, he knew Jounouchi wasn't stupid enough to just nottake his medicine for no reason.

"I… well… that's very rude of you, Jounouchi!"

"You're being rude to him," Kaiba interjected, his face as stony cold as ever, "you're trying to imply that he's some kind of idiot. I mean, he _is _some kind of idiot… but I'm sure he didn't get ill on purpose."

"Oh? Then would you like to suggest what did happen?"

"Maybe he forgot. I don't know. Is that even relevant?" Kaiba was bristling, now. Jounouchi decided it would probably be better if he kept his mouth shut, so he looked down at the floor. When the nurse didn't answer, Kaiba went on, "You're not very professional. Don't expect to be working here for much longer."

She looked flabbergasted. "Are you threatening me?"

"Yes. I am. We'll be going now."

After helping Jounouchi steady himself, they both left.

"You probably need to go to the hospital."

"I don't need you to look after me," Jounouchi reminded him.

"I know. You've told me that before. But you still should go to hospital."

Jounouchi considered this. "I probably should."

They looked at eachother for a second.

"Please, no," Jounouchi said, but Kaiba cut him off.

"I'm coming with you."


	9. Waiting For Our Luck To Change

Five minutes after Kaiba had made a quick phone call, Jounouchi found himself being bundled in the back of a limousine. He attempted defiance:

"I can walk."

"Jounouchi, it's on the other side of town."

"I don't _care_."

But once he'd caught the scent of pine air freshener, he had been slightly more inclined to get in. He hadn't even been in a _car _since before his mother had left and now… he knew that Kaiba was laughing at him because he was squished into the corner, head against the window, just staring in wonder. Conscious of his bloody nose, he held the gauze carefully to it because he so did _not _want to drip blood on the upholstery. He also knew that this was totally normal for Kaiba - that he was used to the comfort of smooth leather seats and being taken wherever he wanted to go whenever he wanted. This was one of the many perks of having a sickeningly wealthy 'guardian' (not parent, he wouldn't use that word, not ever), and Kaiba took full advantage.

When they pulled up at the hospital and the chauffeur opened the door for him, Jounouchi felt unwilling to leave. But after being coerced into it by Kaiba (who was complaining behind him), he wobbled out onto the street and walked the crunching gravel pathway up to the hospital's sliding doors. Kaiba followed. Jounouchi stopped abruptly, staring through the panes of glass set in the doors, then he turned, and took the gauze from his face.

"You don't have to come with me."

"Alright. But I'll wait for you."

Jounouchi frowned, but if Kaiba wanted to waste his own time, that was fine by him. Then he took a step up to the doors and they slid open for him; the air con blasted lusciously cold air over him, soothing his hot, sticky skin, and he headed to the reception desk with shaky confidence. Kaiba took a seat in the waiting room and watched as somebody led Jounouchi away.

He was by the open window, which wafted warm air over him as he sat, arms crossed. There was one other person here, a man in a suit, who looked like he was waiting for somebody, too. Fixed above the doorway was a small television screen, which currently was set to the local news channel. He watched with mild interest.

A politician he hadn't heard of had been arrested for money laundering. There was a short piece about renovations in the inner city. Then, near the end of the show, a detailed segment about a murder caught his interest. (He had something of a morbid curiosity). They showed a photograph of the victim; he was in every way average, as far as Kaiba could tell, but his dark eyes were sunken. Apparently the police had found a stash of marijuana in his fridge. The man's eleven year old son had been taken into custody. Although he had wounds that suggested a violent attack with a crowbar or similar, he had been shot dead by fellow dealer Matsuo Ueda over a disagreement involving debts.

It made his own life seem so awfully _dull_ in comparison, and he was thankful for that. He had nearly been mugged on Sunday night, he remembered with moderate embarrassment. For too long he'd thought himself untouchable. He had so needed to get out of the house - his adoptive father was being his insufferable self and he'd just wanted to get away. With a sigh, he shook off that memory, and remembered what Jounouchi had said to him: "We're even now." He wondered if his bringing Jounouchi to the hospital this time was going to throw them once again out of balance. And then, equally, he wondered how much help he was willing to give to somebody so obstinate.

After a few moments' thought, he decided that he would give him all he could. Kaiba _liked _Jounouchi, because he annoyed him, because he was stupid, because he didn't take him seriously or particularly value his opinions or existence, and he wasn't afraid of upsetting him. There were too many fake people in his life. He could see easily through the cracks in their façade of exaggerated kindness to the greed and self-interest that lay beneath. But Jounouchi was not deceptive.

Meanwhile, Jounouchi was sitting in agony. His nerves at being back in hospital had made him feel a thousand times worse, and he was shaking so much that the even the nurse was getting anxious. She'd told him to try and sit still so that she could take a blood sample, but that apparently was not going to happen. He couldn't breathe properly through his nose, so he was panting. She knew he'd been in for a broken nose just on Friday night… but he had been prescribed antibiotics.

"Have you been taking your medicine?" she asked him, thought it was a pointless question, because he was running a high fever, he was in pain, he was shaking and he couldn't breathe properly. He had winced away from her when she'd tried to touch his burning face, and his eyes were swollen. Plus he had a rasping cough and when she'd listened to his chest it had sounded like everything in there was lined with sandpaper. The boy was ill. There was no question about it.

He had to swallow repeatedly before he could speak. "No."

"Do you still have it?"

"No."

She sighed. She knew there was a prescription drug trade in this city, and this boy was either a victim of it or a perpetrator. He certainly looked like a victim, sitting there trembling like a child, black-eyed and occasionally dripping blood from his nose.

"Did somebody take it from you?"

He stared at her. A million words he could never say passed between them when their eyes met.

"Okay, Jounouchi, you don't have to answer that question. If I give you a new prescription, is there a safe place where you can keep your medicine?"

He thought of the warehouse and its cardboard boxes and its huge adjoining field and its exploding lightbulbs and its distance from his father, and he said, "Yes."

She scrawled him a prescription for a standard antibiotic. As far as she could tell he had a bad sinus infection and a chest cold. Then she opened a cupboard and withdrew a little box, tipping out two of the pills into her hand. She brought the pills to him, with water from the cooler.

"These pills will take most of the pain away, but they'll also make you loopy, so don't go operating any heavy machinery tonight, okay?"

With a shaking hand, he took the pills from her, and attempted a painful smile. He swallowed them with the cool water. A blood clot slipped down his throat as he did so, and he grimaced. She took the cup and handed him the prescription.

"You pick this up tomorrow. And stay safe, kiddo."

"Thanks a lot," he said, and then he left. He tucked his second prescription into his pocket with immense care. He wasn't going to fuck up this time around. He thought he should probably say goodbye to Kaiba, or something, so he headed into the waiting room and waved awkwardly at him. He was smiling, though, which Kaiba noticed with pleasure. Kaiba stood and walked to him.

"I would offer you a ride home," he said, "but I know what you would say." Jounouchi's grin broadened.

"At least let me walk with you?"

Jounouchi considered this. If he remembered correctly - which he wasn't totally sure he did -, his warehouse was kind of near the same part of town as where Kaiba's _mansion_ stood.

"Alright, if you want."

As they walked, Jounouchi felt the effects of those two little pills he'd been given start to set in. He felt kind of confused. The sun was very hot on him, he noticed, and his body felt heavy like it was made out of lead. He tried to shake this off, and at the same time tried to recall exactly what was going on.

"Where are we?" he said out loud, but he wasn't expecting anybody to hear. It was somewhat surprising when Kaiba answered him.

"We're passing school. Can't you see? It's just there," he said, pointing across the road. Then he turned to look at Jounouchi, who was staring past him with puzzled wonder in his eyes.

"Did you take some medicine? You're acting weird."

Jounouchi thought about this for a little while. Kaiba's eyes were really blue in the sunlight. "Yes."

With a great sigh, Kaiba set off walking again, and Jounouchi followed him eagerly. He wanted to go wherever Kaiba was going. Was he supposed to be going home or something? If he went home his dad would hurt him and no no no he didn't want that at all. He had the warehouse but he found he couldn't quite remember where that was. Then he thought he could stay at Matsuo's house instead but he lived a long way from here - did he? Maybe. Matsuo would probably say that he had another job for him. Jounouchi didn't want to hurt people any more.

Suddenly he stopped. He was scared.

"Kaiba," he whimpered, barely loud enough for Kaiba to hear him. But he did, and he turned around.

"What is it?"

Damp-eyed, Jounouchi beckoned him closer. He came closer, and stood before him. Kaiba was taller than he was.

"I did something bad," he said quietly, balling his hands into fists.

"What did you do?" Kaiba said, mildly amused. Those pills had really messed with him.

Jounouchi shook. And he said, "I killed somebody."

Kaiba toyed with the idea of believing this. Jounouchi was extremely unimpressed to see that Kaiba didn't look shocked or even remotely bemused by this confession.

"Who?"

"I don't know his name. But… but he had a kid," Jounouchi said, and it concerned Kaiba slightly that Jounouchi did seem genuinely distressed by this, "and I didn't have to do it but, but he said… he said something and it made me angry and I _killed _him Kaiba, I'm a _murderer_ -"

"Jounouchi. Calm down." He eyed the trembling boy before him with skepticism. "Tell me what happened, okay?"

"I had to... I had to get his money. It was nighttime and he was asleep so I woke him up and he gave me the cash and then I hit him. On the head. With an iron pipe."

"Okay… why did you have to get his money?" This was really kind of weird. He hoped this was some delusion brought on by the medicine.

"He owed somebody. Fifty thousand yen."

Something clicked.

"Was he a drug dealer?"

"I… yeah. I think so. He had a lot of pot in his fridge."

Kaiba nodded. This was the guy from the news.

"He's dead, Jounouchi."

Jounouchi stared in horror.

"Oh _fuck!_ Kaiba… what am I gonna do?" He paused for a second to chew his lip, and then something horrific occurred to him. "Are you gonna call the police? I know you don't like me but you don't want me to get in trouble do you? I swear I didn't mean to kill him, Kaiba, I _swear_." Jounouchi had the pale, wide-eyed expression of a child who'd been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

"No! I mean… _you _didn't kill him, but he is dead. He got shot. It was on the news," Kaiba said quickly, feeling stupid for not having clarified this sooner.

Silence.

"Also," he said, "I don't not like you."

A drug-happy grin spread over Jounouchi's face. He was innocent. What a delicious word. So he sauntered on past Kaiba, smiling as he went. Kaiba watched him for a second, bewildered, but he accepted this odd exchange as just one of those strange things that happened to people who let Jounouchi into their lives. He didn't regret doing that, he thought, as he strode to catch up with his loopy… friend.

Maybe, _maybe_ things were picking up.


	10. Is It Safe?

Time passed, and they walked on in relative peace. Jounouchi was leading the way, though occasionally he had to stop and give lengthy consideration to exactly where it was he was going. The distant buildings were framed with the light from the setting sun, which cast apricot tones over the cooling streets. Once in a while a car cruised past them, but for the most part there was hardly anybody else around; it was seven, and most people had returned home from work or school by now.

Something had been bothering Kaiba for a while.

"Jounouchi," he said, breaking the easy silence between them. Kaiba felt mildly concerned that Jounouchi hadn't seemed to express very much remorse over battering another man half to death, so he'd decided to pry.

"Yeah?" Jounouchi said, tearing his gaze from the orange sky to turn and face Kaiba. The pastel light of the sunset softened all his features. When Kaiba looked into his eyes he could see that his pupils were dilated, and he smiled. He was still totally out of it, but this seemed to make him more pliable.

"Why did you have to go and pick up that guy's debt?"

Jounouchi looked blank. "Who?"

Kaiba sighed. "The one you thought you _murdered_, Jounouchi. Remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. I think so." Jounouchi scrambled for the memory. "If you run money for dealers sometimes they give you a cut, see, and… I'm poor." He was smiling, apologetically. Kaiba was not. Jounouchi cocked his head. "Are you angry?"

"No," he said. "Why did you hurt him?"

Jounouchi broke eye contact at this question and looked at the pavement. He didn't usually hurt people who didn't deserve it, but that guy _had _deserved it. Right? Kaiba waited, trying to stifle the unease that gathered within him. He knew that Jounouchi was not a bad person, but he also knew very well that money, the pursuit of it, and the need of it, changed people.

"His son," Jounouchi eventually said.

This seemed like an odd thing to say. The news report had mentioned that the man had a son, but they'd given no further details. "What about his son?"

"He was…" Jounouchi trailed off, a kind of perplexity clouding his eyes. He was looking for the right words to describe what he had seen, but they eluded him. After a few moments, he said, "He was all beat up."

Kaiba raised an eyebrow.

Clarity came suddenly, briefly. "And, and I asked him how his kid got like that, and he said that he did it, and then I guess I hurt him."

"Do you feel guilty?"

Jounouchi considered this.

"Not really."

Kaiba nodded. He would not have felt particularly guilty either. Once Jounouchi realised that Kaiba had no further questions, he set off again, with leisurely, self-assured strides. He'd completely forgotten that they were supposed to be heading to where he lived, and as far as he remembered they were just on a nighttime stroll. Jounouchi led Kaiba to the park; by now the sun had set and the city was darkening purple, blazing amber when the streetlights turned on.

The park was empty and refreshingly cold. Lights lined the cobblestone path that Kaiba strolled along - Jounouchi had eschewed the path to walk on the cool grass, underneath the trees. When Jounouchi stopped to watch the sky (as he did with increasing frequency), he could see dark blue spreading like a stain.

"Look," he said simply, pointing.

At first, Kaiba rolled his eyes, but at Jounouchi's imploring stare, he looked up.

He was not a very romantic person. He didn't spend a lot of time gazing at the sky; it did not particularly interest him and he was essentially too impatient for things like this. But he noticed, and accepted, the fact that the sliver of moon that they could see, and the spattering of stars that blinked down from the deep blue, were relatively pretty.

When he looked back down, Jounouchi was standing underneath a streetlamp, staring at something. He approached, and as he did so he saw what it was that Jounouchi was looking at: a moth was flitting in the yellow light. Shortly, its wings tired, and it spiralled to earth. In cupped hands, Jounouchi caught it, and it crawled over his thumb, spread its wings, and darted into the night.

"Jounouchi," Kaiba said gently, "where exactly is it that you live?"

Jounouchi looked at him, narrowed his eyes, thought. Why was Kaiba asking him that? What a strange question.

"Somewhere around here… I think."

He couldn't remember? Kaiba couldn't leave him alone to find his own way home; he'd get himself into trouble, what with his drugged state.

"Okay. Come on, let's go this way," Kaiba said, taking the left that led to the park's exit. The path changed beneath their feet from broad, sturdy paving stones to longer grass. There were a few interspersed trees, whose leaves were ruffled by the cool, light breeze. The scent here was rich with the smell of flowers. Jounouchi followed, curious, and a touch fearful.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

Jounouchi accepted this. They left the park and crossed the street. This was a much nicer part of the city than anywhere Jounouchi frequented. The pavement looked clean, it was blissfully quiet, and the streetlamps cast a clear light. It was when they drew up to a handsome wrought iron gate that Jounouchi spoke again.

"This isn't where I live," he said quietly, staring wide-eyed at the regal mansion that towered in the near distance, and the long gravel drive that led up to it. It was bordered by impeccably manicured lawns. He had never seen anything like it, he thought, as he twined his fingers around the bars of the gate. They were cold and rough under his fingertips. He jumped backwards a little, in shock, as the gates opened apparently of their own volition.

"No, but you can stay here for tonight."

Kaiba had already crossed the threshold. Jounouchi aligned his toes with the start of the path, wary of following him. "Is it safe?" Jounouchi said after him, casting his bloodshot eyes warily ahead.

"Very."

So he followed, all the way down the straight drive and through the huge, glossy doors that towered, stately, at its end.

Jounouchi kicked off his shoes, a touch nervous, and went to sit on the bottom step of the central staircase. And he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was in Kaiba's house. Surrounding him were massively tall walls, coated in luxurious floral wallpaper, which swept upwards for what seemed like miles. Everything looked bigger from down here. The ceiling, he noticed when he craned his neck, was painted with a mural depicting an elaborate scene of angels in pale blue and gold. There hung a gigantic chandelier, which cast a radiant bright light over everything. The banister he was leaning on was lustrous oak. The carpet beneath him was plush, navy, unstained and undamaged. This was not like anything he had ever seen.

"Seto!"

Preoccupied by staring at the glinting chandelier, whose diamonds looked from here like tiny rainbows, Jounouchi barely heard the voice. But Kaiba did.

Mokuba flung himself at his brother, and then almost an instant afterwards withdrew from him, a stern look on his face.

"You're late! And… who is _that_?" he said, at first sounding awfully firm, before he noticed Jounouchi perched on the staircase. His wide eyes took in first the fact that he was covered in blood, then that he looked to be totally out of it, staring at the ceiling.

"He's from school. His name is Jounouchi."

"Is he your friend?" Mokuba said, looking back at his big brother.

"Kind of."

Mokuba hesitated. "Can I talk to him?"

"You shouldn't," Kaiba said, mostly because he did not want to find out what stoned Jounouchi would _say _to his little brother, "he's ill."

"Oh. Okay. Then why is he here?"

Kaiba sighed. "He forgot where he lives."

Mokuba stared. "Wow. He really _is _ill."

A servant materialised from the top of the staircase, a prim and proper man in a suit. This startled Jounouchi, who watched him warily as he trotted down the stairs and onto the landing.

"Master Kaiba, shall I prepare a guest room?" he said, and Jounouchi laughed a little. He spoke like he was royalty.

"Yes."

"Very well."

As the man left, Jounouchi said, "Can you get them to call _me _master?"

"No."

Jounouchi slumped, defeated. At this, Mokuba chuckled, but his laughter died the instant his brother turned his stern gaze back to him.

"It's late, isn't it?"

"Uh… kind of."

"And shouldn't you be in bed by now?"

"Well… maybe…"

It was a relief when Kaiba smiled at him.

"Go. I'll see you in the morning."

"Nightnight, big brother!"

"Goodnight," he said, and Kaiba smiled after him as he bounded up the stairs.

"Cute kid," Jounouchi said, and promptly fell asleep. Kaiba rolled his eyes. This was going to be a very _interesting _night.


	11. Restless Dream

Jounouchi was encouraged up the stairs in a daze; opening his eyes was painful because everything was so _bright_ so he hobbled, squinting, following the butler and flanked by Kaiba who was anxious of the whole situation. Jounouchi was awfully red and very much looked like he was about to collapse. The butler regarded Jounouchi with a grim expression, and more than once looked at Kaiba in irritation, as though to say, "How could you bring this _wretch _here?" But Kaiba did not care what he thought. He liked Jounouchi, even when he was fever-red and delirious.

The first floor corridor was quiet, and long, and spotlessly clean like everywhere else in this house. The only thing that was remotely out of place was Jounouchi, who was the polar opposite of prim and proper (even when he wasn't covered in crusty blood with eyes that were swollen shut).

"I will take him through to the guest room."

"Thank you," Kaiba said. Then he suddenly remembered: "He has a prescription in his pocket. Take it and pick up the medicine by tomorrow morning. And make sure he takes it."

"Of course, Master Kaiba," his butler said, then he turned, scowled, and led Jounouchi away. He resented having to deal with the boy. He took the prescription from a confused Jounouchi, thrust open the door to the guest room, and marched off to find the boy something clean to sleep in.

When he returned, Jounouchi was lying on top of the cool silken bedsheets on his back, in his underpants, staring at the canopy of the four poster bed. He noticed that the butler was standing in the doorway with a look of abject horror on his face, so he crawled under the covers, with a crackly laugh. The butler turned out the lights, shut the door, and left him in darkness.

This was not okay with him.

The butler checked in on him every hour - under Kaiba's instruction - and every time found the boy staring blankly into space. It was near midnight when Kaiba found him, just as he clicked the door shut.

"How is he?"

"He's in bed, but he won't sleep. Perhaps you should speak to him."

"Alright," Kaiba said, sighing.

When he entered the room, it was dark, and quiet but for Jounouchi's loud, desperate breaths. He flicked on the light. Jounouchi's breath settled almost immediately, and he looked with sunken eyes over at Kaiba.

"Scared of the dark?"

Jounouchi did not respond. Kaiba walked over to the side of the bed and looked down at him.

"I can't pay you back," Jounouchi croaked suddenly, and Kaiba sighed. What was his obsession with repaying favours?

"I really don't care, Jounouchi."

"No, I mean… not ever."

"It doesn't matter."

Jounouchi faltered, and thought.

"That doesn't make sense," he whispered, and pulled the covers up a little further over his face, so that Kaiba could just see his eyes. They were bloodshot, red-ringed.

"I'm not helping you because I want anything from you. I'm not interested in anything that you have -"

Jounouchi interrupted him, "I don't have anything anyway."

"It's okay. I'm only doing this because I want you to get better. I don't expect anything in return."

"But… that… what? That's not what people are like."

"Maybe you just know a lot of… bad people."

"Maybe."

"You should go to sleep now. And don't worry about paying me back, okay? You don't have to."

"Promise?"

Kaiba rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Yes, I promise."

"Okay. Night."

"Goodnight," Kaiba said, and as he left his hand hovered over the lightswitch, but he left the light on. He did, however, close the door, and he was barely two steps down the hall when he heard Jounouchi call his name in his hoarse, cracking voice. He sighed, turned, and opened the door again.

"What is it?"

"Leave the door open," Jounouchi said, in a voice that was barely a murmur.

"Alright," he said, and he did just that, before he headed to his study in another part of the house.

This was the most comfortable place Jounouchi had _ever _slept. He wasn't even sure he wanted to sleep. The mattress beneath him was like a cloud; it didn't have broken springs that dug into his back and it wasn't full of lice and it smelled like it was stuffed with flowers, not like somebody had died there. The covers were light on his burning skin. Beneath his aching head, soothing the pain in his neck, was a plush pillow. He would gladly have stayed there forever. Eventually, though, he did succumb to his pressing exhaustion, and it pushed him under, into sleep.

He dreamed for hours. Fever-induced, his dreams were of school and medicine and ducks, things that didn't scare him. And also of Kaiba. Arms that made him feel safe.

And then of his father, and fists that hurt him. Blood that stained him. Cigarette burns. A knife, its point descending on him.

He fell out of bed with a yelp, and accidentally smashed the lamp that had been sitting on the bedside table. He lay on his side amongst shattered pieces of porcelain and glass, coughing, in agony, dripping tears and shaking. His eyes were closed. He curled into a ball, crunching over shards of lamp.

The door banged open.

"Jounouchi? Are you okay?"

It was Kaiba. He hadn't been to sleep yet, though it was three in the morning. He'd heard the noise from across the house. For a moment, he stared, then he rushed to Jounouchi's side.

"It's okay," he said, kneeling beside Jounouchi and helping him to sit up, feeling his blazing skin under his cold hands, wincing at the sound of his cough like bones rattling. He couldn't help but notice a purple, inches-long scar on Jounouchi's lower abdomen. It looked like he had been stabbed.

Jounouchi could feel from the pressure of the hand rubbing his back that it was small, thin, not like his father's, and it was not hurting him. Still his heart pounded. Kaiba could feel it, as though his spine was pulsing.

"Don't hurt me," he croaked, once his cough subsided.

"I won't."

"Please."

"I'm not going to."

Jounouchi now was shaking, hiding his face. He looked at Kaiba from behind his hand.

"Are you okay?" Kaiba said.

No response.

"It's safe," he said, moving his hand from Jounouchi's back to his shoulder. "Did you have a nightmare?"

No response.

"Jounouchi. Talk to me. Anything."

Jounouchi twitched with the repressed urge to tell Kaiba everything bad that had ever happened to him.

"I got hurt," he said.

"It was just a dream."

Kaiba would have given everything he owned just to have the surly, bristling, angry Jounouchi back. This vulnerable pill-addled feverish boy was breaking his heart just by the fear in his eyes. Jounouchi was shaking his head, slowly.

"It happened," he said.

This disturbed Kaiba.

"Nothing can hurt you here. You can go back to sleep."

Jounouchi swallowed. For several minutes, they sat in silence, Jounouchi now leaning on Kaiba and quaking so much that Kaiba felt himself shaking a little. Kaiba was wary of touching him too much, but his arm instinctively curled around Jounouchi's shoulders. This seemed to soothe him just a little, and he rested his head on Kaiba's chest. It was as he became calmer that Jounouchi realised he'd never really appreciated how good Kaiba smelled before. Or how it felt to hold eachother like lovers. He felt odd.

They stayed like this for a while. Eventually, Jounouchi shook to his feet, with Kaiba's help. When he lay back in bed, he trembled, eyes wet. As Kaiba left, Jounouchi said to him, "Shut the door."

So he did.

As Kaiba marched back across the hallway, he thought about this. He was stricken by the urge to find whoever it was that had done _those things _to Jounouchi, and kill them. Painfully. Mokuba often hailed him as a hero, and said that he could fix anything. Kaiba was used to dealing with grazed knees and bad dreams about monsters under the bed, not scars that told horrific stories or nightmares that were unthinkable.

He knew that Jounouchi did not want to let him in. He knew that, had Jounouchi not been high on pills, he would not have taken his help. It seemed impossible to even contemplate solving Jounouchi's problems if he wasn't willing to admit he _had _any.

But he could try.

* * *

><p>"Where am I? What happened? …What the <em>fuck <em>is going on?"

This hoarse bellow exploded through the house at ten minutes past eight the next morning.

Apparently Jounouchi had come down from the pills.

Whatever it was that was happening, it was not okay by Jounouchi, who had now flung his covers onto the floor and was stalking around the room _angrily_, hunting for his clothes, which had disappeared. A maid had come in to bring him his medicine, and she was now standing outside, her heart pounding. Kaiba found his way there relatively quickly.

"Jounouchi. Don't swear," were the first words that left his mouth.

"Fuck you!" Jounouchi yelled at him. "Why are you even here?"

"Because this is my house. I live here. With my ten year old brother."

Jounouchi paused briefly from his rampage, and then appeared to calm down a little.

"Oh."

"You should get back in bed and take your medicine."

"Don't tell me what to do! Anyway I don't _need _medicine, I feel -"

Jounouchi's breath was cut by a vicious coughing fit that had him doubled over, incapacitated, for several minutes. Kaiba watched.

Once his breath returned, Jounouchi said, "- fine!"

As he straightened, their eyes met. Jounouchi knew Kaiba was right, even if it did infuriate him, so he marched back over to the bed and threw himself onto it.

"By the way your lamp is broken," he said, grumpily.

"I am aware of that," he said, walking over, and taking the pills from their silver dish on the bedside table. He put them in Jounouchi's outstretched hand, and poured him water.

"For future reference, in this house we do _not _refer to the maid as 'you stupid bitch'."

Jounouchi swallowed the pills with the water, and glared at Kaiba. Kaiba felt intensely lucky that his carer was on a business trip for most of this month. He did not even want to _think _about what he would have said at the sight of Jounouchi.

"Why am I here?" he said, slamming the glass back down on the bedside table.

"We went to the hospital yesterday. The nurse gave you some pills and you were so out of it that you forgot where you lived. So I brought you here, though I am starting to regret that."

"Are you gonna kick me out?" Jounouchi said, a touch of hope rising in his voice.

"You're free to leave," Kaiba said.

"Really?"

"No."

Jounouchi growled, then gathered the covers around himself in a kind of cocoon.

"I hate you."

"You don't."

"Shut up."

Kaiba was smirking. "I'm going to school now."

"I want to go to school!"

"I understand that. But you're not allowed to, I'm afraid. I'll see you later."

"You are _such _a bastard, Kaiba."

Truthfully he was incredibly, indescribably grateful to be somewhere safe, where someone cared about him. Kaiba left, and a few moments later the maid returned, with a dustpan and brush to remove the debris of the shattered lamp.

"Sorry," Jounouchi croaked at her.

"It's okay," she said, and gave him a shaky smile, "You should go back to sleep. I'll bring some food through for you later."

"Alright," he said, and rolled over, exhausted. He felt mildly angry, ill, hungry, and he hurt all over. But, he realised, he'd finally gone home with Kaiba. This made him smile, and that flicker of happiness carried him to sleep.


	12. Ruthless

**Author's Note:** Thank you _all _for your wonderfully kind reviews. I know I haven't updated for about two months, but it's been exam season and sadly, school comes first. But summer has officially started, and so updates will be much faster. Thanks again for your patience, kind words, and just for reading. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>It'd been a week.<p>

A long, _long _week.

Jounouchi's bristling anger had bred a family of immense grudges against anything and everything that happened to annoy him during his day-to-day life as a guest in Kaiba's home. For example, he and the toaster were no longer friends after his toast had gotten stuck and he'd had a lengthy debate with Kaiba about how it should be perfectly safe to lever it out with a knife. (After all, his parents had never been present enough to warn him about that danger, and it had yet to do him any harm). On this morning in particular, the shower had run cold on him, he'd stepped on an electrical plug, he'd had difficulty raising his arms far above his head enough to get his shirt on and so a maid had had to help him, and his brain felt like it was hammering on the walls of his skull (but that was quite normal).

He would've stayed in bed, had it not been for the garden.

Every day, once his headache had been sated by a stream of painkillers to the point where he could look at things without his eyes feeling like they were bleeding, he'd cautiously peel back a corner of the curtain. Just enough to look at the grass. To see the oak trees. It was a wonderland out there, but he was practically locked up in the guest bedroom, too ill to go outside. But finally he was well enough to taste the outdoors again.

Kaiba had gone to school, and only with his express permission was Jounouchi escorted to the bottom of the garden and left to doze in the shade. It was perfect.

Come early afternoon, he was roused from his sleep by the sound of footfalls on the grass. He woke up with a jolt, rolled over, and stared at the world as it blurred. Hundreds of green and golden hexagons overlapped and glittered across eachother, and slowly, they all shifted back to a scene that was in focus. Approaching him was Mokuba.

"Shouldn't you be at school or something?" Jounouchi crowed at him as he approached. Mokuba sat down beside him, cross-legged, and smiled.

"I got out early today. Have you been out here all day?"

"Yeah," Jounouchi said, "I like it out here." He lifted his head a little so that he could look again across the garden, back towards the house, which loomed in the distance. He lay at the far end of the garden, in the shade of an oak tree whose leaves flickered in the soft breeze. Just below him, edged by sandy banks, was a small river. The sound of rushing water soothed the throbbing pain in his temples like painkillers never could.

"Me too."

Jounouchi had never really had a garden or anywhere nice to play when he was a kid. He figured Mokuba must have had the greatest time out here. The green grass seemed like it went on for miles, and the lawns were bordered by forests. He thought that was incredible. He also had marvelled at the river whose banks he now lay on. It had fish in it, and they flickered past, streaks of gold and silver. With a little smile, he watched some ducks bob past, though he had to squint because the river was reflecting sunlight and it was a little too bright for him.

"Seto doesn't bring people home that often, you know. He must like you a lot," Mokuba said, smiling as he ran blades of grass between his fingers.

"Yeah, well, I don't like him," Jounouchi said, stubborn as ever.

Mokuba cocked his head. "Are you sure about that?" he said, then smirked a little. He might've been young, but he wasn't stupid.

"…No."

They both fell silent for a little while, and the only noise was the babbling of the river, and the breeze softly brushing the leaves on the overhanging tree.

"Why is your brother so nice to me?" Jounouchi eventually said, turning his head back to Mokuba.

"I already said. He must like you. I don't know _why_," Mokuba replied, grinning impishly as Jounouchi scowled at him, though he had a smile pressing at the corners of his frown.

"What does he want from me?"

"He wants you to get better."

Jounouchi shook his head, and rolled over onto his side. He couldn't bring himself to explain to Mokuba that life wasn't as simple as that. As far as Jounouchi knew - and it was _all _that he knew - people only helped others to get something in return. And he dreaded Kaiba discovering that he had nothing at all to offer.

* * *

><p>Jounouchi was sat at the kitchen table, which was considerably longer than most tables he'd ever come across, but not quite so disturbingly expansive as the one in Kaiba's dining room, which he still refused to sit at. Mokuba had been sat with him, but he'd disappeared about twenty minutes ago to finish his homework - Jounouchi had considered offering to help, but bit back the offer before it could pass his lips because chances were high that he would be useless at any problems Mokuba had been set. He wasn't book smart. So he'd laid his cheek on the cool wooden table and dozed off.<p>

He woke to the sound of a door slam, and a twinge in his neck told him he really shouldn't have fallen asleep like that. He waited, and then Kaiba appeared in the doorway, and stared at him.

"How are you feeling today?" Kaiba said, but he didn't come closer. Jounouchi's eyes were narrowed, like they usually were just before he flew into a mindless rage.

"I feel fine," he replied, coldly, and Kaiba sighed, and crossed the room. He pulled up a chair beside Jounouchi, and gave him a cool smile.

"Okay. But how do you really feel?"

"I told you. I'm fine. I went outside and my head didn't hurt. And I'm out of medication and I haven't even coughed since Wednesday. Alright? I'm _fine_."

He said this all very slowly, but Kaiba had to admit that Jounouchi was feeling better, and he couldn't keep him here forever.

"So… what do you want to do?"

Jounouchi eyed him, warily, like prey sizing up a predator.

"I can pay you back. It might take a couple days to get the money together, but I can."

"Jounouchi, do you think I want your money? Do you think I need it?"

Jounouchi faltered, then scowled again.

"Why else would you help me out, huh? Why would you let me in your house? _Me_. You know I don't belong here, you know that your servants and whatever are all confused as hell - even your brother doesn't get it, it doesn't make any goddamn _sense_, Kaiba. I'm not like you. I'm not. Why did you bring me here if you didn't want anything from me?"

Kaiba's mouth twitched, as thought he were about to snap something angry in response, but he clearly thought better of it, and leaned back in his chair, then looked at the ceiling. Jounouchi was furious, and this was exacerbated by his confusion.

"I just wanted to help you," Kaiba said off-handedly, and then looked askance at Jounouchi, whose neck was flushed in anger, "and I can't force you to stay here if you don't want to, but you don't owe me anything."

"Alright. I'm going, then," Jounouchi said flatly, and he stood with a great scrape of chair legs against floor. He crossed the room without a backward glance, grabbed his schoolbag - for it was all that he owned - from beside the front door, and left. The late afternoon sun beat down on him as he strolled down the long stretch of gravel, slipped through the wrought iron gates, and stalked off into the city streets.

The schoolkids had long since all gone home, and so it was characteristically quiet, and Jounouchi felt at peace for the first time in a while. Long, stretching shadows of park fences and trees rippled over him as he walked, breathing deeply. He didn't have anywhere to go.

And then, in a flash of glorious inspiration, he remembered: the warehouse. Of course. So he picked through the city streets, feeling much better for being outside again, and made his way to the outskirts.

When he arrived at the old warehouse, it was just the same as he remembered it. The branches of the old oak tree growing just outside were creaking gently in the wind, and the field of dry grass waved a welcome to him. He pushed open the huge, rusting doors, and slipped inside, where it was cool, and dark.

It looked like it hadn't been touched since he had last been here, and that was probably for the best. He threw down his schoolbag, kicked off his shoes, and tumbled down onto the old mattress, then fell asleep in an instant.

Jounouchi spent many days in the warehouse, living carefully by the little food he'd stored there that was still good to eat. Dry and slightly stale cereal had once been a delicacy, but after staying at Kaiba's he was finding this all a little disappointing. It was still better than being at home, though - _anything_ was better than that. In the evenings he'd go out and sit under the oak tree, or go into the field and lie down in the knee-length grass and disappear. One night he walked all the way down to the end of the field, where there was a little pond, and he stayed there for a long time, looking at tadpoles.

By the time he straightened up, the moon was out in full and there were stars speckling the suburban sky. It was getting colder, and so he headed back, exhausted but content.

He slipped through the warehouse door, and found someone there waiting for him.

"Where you been, kid?"

Dad.

Every inch of Jounouchi screamed to run, but he seemed to have lost control of his body. His dad stepped forward, and the moonlight streaming through the hole in the roof caught the angles of his ugly, twisted face. Keep him talking, Jounouchi thought.

"You… you said not to come by the apartment for a while."

"Yeah. But do you know what happened while you were away? Do you know what the _fuck _happened?"

"…No. What happened?" Jounouchi said, trying to sound airy and conversational, and failing, as his heart was pounding a billion beats a minute in his throat.

"People been at the door. Asking after you. Said you were a buddy of somebody called Matsuo. I told them you weren't living there no more. They asked where to find you, I said I don't know, that kid goes wherever the fuck he wants. But you know what? They came back. Again, and again. I'm tired of them coming to the fucking door, alright? So maybe I'll just tell them you're living here, now."

"Who were they?"

Oh God, he was in trouble.

"I don't know, kid, but they didn't look too happy with you."

Jounouchi's mind raced. He knew it had been a stupid idea to get back into the drug business. But he'd needed to.

"Shit. Dad, you can't tell them I'm here, please, I'll do whatever you want, just… please. _Please_." He knew those words were wasted on his father.

"You think I care what happens to you? Hell, if those guys killed you, I would be happy."

Jounouchi felt anger rising in him. Was it too much to ask, just to be spared this, for _once in his life_? Was it really so unreasonable to want to be safe, even just for one more night? His dad was handing him over to men who no doubt wanted revenge on him for an act of mindless violence, which came about because of his desperation. Jounouchi wasn't one to complain, but why did his life have to be so _hard_?

And then he realised. Of course. The answer was staring him right in the face.

"For fuck's sake! I never did anything wrong, dad! I always tried to stay out of your way and you always… fuck you. Fuck. You. I hated you for as long as I can remember. You're a worthless, washed-up fucking _loser_."

His dad stared at him. Jounouchi had never stood up to him before, not ever. But now his imminent murder by a faceless gang made him reckless. What could his dad do to him that would be worse than what _they_ were planning?

"Whatever, kid. When those guys come knocking again, I'll let them know you're in this part of town. I don't know where you go when you're not here but they'll find you, I bet. Saves me having to fuck you up myself."

"Oh no, dad, please do! I know you want to, you sadistic fuck. What kind of fucked up bastard would turn over his own son to murderers? What kind of _dad _lets his kid damn near starve to death?"

Jounouchi's father eyed him, like an angry bull. Sweat was forming on the back of Jounouchi's neck.

"It's not my fault your mother didn't want you," his dad snarled back, and a muscle in Jounouchi's jaw twitched. His dad was right, and that made him want to cry. She had left, with his sister, and moved to another part of the country, leaving him with a man who might as well have been a murderer.

"Get out. Get the _fuck _out of here," Jounouchi snapped, and his father did just that. He didn't even hit him. He didn't even look at him. He just left.

And Jounouchi staggered over to his mattress, fell on it, and tried to cry, but no tears would come. He gritted his teeth, balled his hands into fists, and shook in anger and a sadness so deep that it was _painful_, like having his heart ripped out.

He knew he had to get out of here if he wanted to survive. But in that moment, as he lay there, twitching in agony, thoughts writhing, he did not want to live.

Eventually, he fell asleep.


	13. You'll Be Running But Can't Get Anywhere

When Jounouchi flitted out of his restless sleep, he found that it was morning. A long slice of watery sunlight was stretched out beside him, let in by the high windows of his warehouse home. It was raining outside, hard, and this had made a couple of holes in the roof more apparent. Splattering to the ground just past his head was a long stream of rainwater. For a while he lay in abject misery, staring at the few chunks of stormy steel-grey sky he could see through the battered roof.

How long would he be safe here?

He had no idea.

Probably not long.

He could stay until they came, he thought, as he pulled his ratty blanket up to his chin. At least long enough to find out what they wanted from him - but what if they brought knives? Guns? His dad had said that they knew he was a friend of Matsuo's…

Suddenly the sick crack of an iron pipe against bone and tooth clanged sharply into memory, and he grimaced. He hadn't killed the man, Matsuo had. Now Matsuo was rotting in a prison cell, and Jounouchi lay on a bedbug-infested mattress in a leaky warehouse, feeling more a small and defenceless child than ever. He was innocent - but innocence meant nothing to the people after him.

They knew he was implicated in the murder of that man, and they must've been his friends.

An abrupt dull roar of thunder startled him back to reality. He didn't want to be here when they showed up. He didn't want them to find him. He had to run away, and face the bleakness of his situation alone. Maybe if he got far away enough he could find somewhere secluded and end everything. It was the most noble thing to do, he thought, as he crawled out of bed and dressed himself in a haze.

But he wanted to be strong. He wanted to win. He wanted to have a good life; he'd wanted it for as long as he could remember.

He should've just stayed with Kaiba. He knew that now, that he'd been an idiot to leave. It'd been a week or more since he had seen that haughty face staring back at him - a week or more since he'd really felt safe.

He threw on his jacket and pulled up his hood. It was pouring down still. He noted with a grim smile that the weather was appropriate, as he threw random items into his bag - mostly food, and a few clothes. He didn't really have anything else, and there was no need for it where he was going. He did, however, slip in the old iron pipe that he'd found in that dumpster what seemed like years ago. Just in case.

The first day he'd seen this warehouse, he'd cast his eye down to the fields that stretched on for miles on a slope below. And just beyond the fields below was open countryside, forest and plain. There, he was untouchable. They would never find him. He could disappear, erased like the mistake he was.

He forced open the warehouse door, and it gave an almighty squeal as he did so, as if it were warning him. He smirked. It was far too late for warnings now.

The rain didn't relent for him; it still lashed down. None of his clothes were waterproofed. He felt like screaming at the sky - don't you think I've dealt with enough shit by now? But he knew it was pointless: he'd spent his whole life bellowing for someone to help him, and a saviour had finally arrived, and then he'd run away like always.

All he could do was move on, so he did, cutting a path through the corn fields that now were lying fallow. It was muddy and treacherous underfoot, and more than once he stumbled, falling on his face in the dirt. He felt terrifyingly exposed, for the trees were scarce, and the weather battered his back, pushing him forward, urging him on. He wouldn't turn back even as his palms became dirtied and bloody, even as his face ran with sweat and a film of rainwater.

His legs felt like they'd been caught in a vice for hours by the time he eventually reached the bottom of the long slope. His watch said it was one in the afternoon, and he wasn't sure how long he had been walking for.

Before him, the field suddenly dissolved into maple forest. The thickly-leaved trees would cover him so well, it would be like vanishing altogether - he leapt over the fence and stumbled forth into the cool woods.

Beneath the lush canopy, it was dry - only a distant rumble far overhead, and a few streams of droplets leaping down from leaftips, gave any indication that it was raining at all. It was dark, and it took his eyes a few minutes to adjust as he traipsed onwards. He liked that his footfalls were near-silent on the soft mush of fallen leaves below. He had never been into a forest before, but he found that the babble of birdsong soothed his anxieties. How could this place exist so close to Domino City?

This place could've been a thousand miles removed from the blood and grime of his life back home. He walked on for a while, the rich tang of fertile dirt like sweet honey to his nose, until he came across a thick river that wriggled, snake-like, through the forest. Its water was clear, and gold in colour, and its bed was paved with small, smooth pebbles. He sat down on a large rock and watched the water rush by.

Every so often, a few ducks bobbed past. One of them, with a fluffy black head, hobbled awkwardly out of the water and waddled up to him.

"I got nothing for you," Jounouchi rasped, his voice dry and aching from underuse. "I barely got anything for me."

The duck obviously did not understand, but Jounouchi liked to pretend that it did, as it sat beside him and gave a quiet quack. Against his common sense, Jounouchi reached into his bag and withdrew a tiny fingerful of cereal, scattering it for his new friend. He couldn't help himself. It just seemed right somehow, like he owed the forest something for keeping him safe.

Contentedly, the duck pecked at the flakes of cereal - all Jounouchi had to offer. And Jounouchi sat on a rock beside it, watching with deadened eyes. He would not cry; he had no feelings left to give.

A week passed. Jounouchi was thankful that his watch had a date function, otherwise he would've likely gone insane - some parts of the forest were dark from morning until night, so the day seemed like it never passed. He'd discovered a small village about two hours' walk away from the forest's edge, where he could buy food. He still had enough ill-gotten money to subside on for a while.

A few more weeks trickled by. Jounouchi realised one day, quite suddenly, in the middle of scrubbing his shirt clean in the river water, that it was his birthday. He was eighteen. Too bad nobody cared, he thought with a wry smile, and laid his shirt on a rock to dry.

A duck came dipping up and down around the river's bend. He'd learned plenty since his first day in the forest; this one was a female, with her rusty red head. She alighted on the riverbank and toddled up to him, bobbing her head.

"It's my birthday," Jounouchi told her softly, and she gave him a little peck on the hand. "Thanks."

He was going insane, he could tell, talking to ducks and sleeping on moss-coated ground. But at least he was safe. There was nobody around, which meant that nobody could hurt him - every so often, someone would pass through walking their dog, or a family on a leisurely walk would visit the forest. But they never saw him, even though he watched them the whole time.

Could he live here forever?

This thought came to him one night as he lay in a forest clearing, belly-up, staring at the stars. He wasn't sure that he could; it just wasn't sustainable, and he would lose his mind before long. He considered his options.

He could go down to the village, try and get a job in the shop and a room above it.

He could go to Domino, back to his warehouse, and hope that the whole thing had blown over. He laughed aloud at this one - gangs didn't just _let things go_.

He could go home, murder his dad, and serve a prison sentence. He gave this a few moments' serious consideration.

Or, finally, he remembered that he still had Kaiba's number scrawled on a scrap of paper in his wallet. There was a pay phone in the village. He could -

No.

He didn't want to be rescued.

But he _did _want to hear a familiar voice.

It was late, eleven at night, and it was a Tuesday. Kaiba would still be awake, Jounouchi was sure - but would he still be awake in two hours, the time it took to traipse down to the village? He tried to remember the week he'd spent at Kaiba's house. Kaiba never did seem to actually sleep…

It was worth a shot.


	14. Schism

**Warning: **Violence, knives, and brief mention of a car crash.

* * *

><p>Some weird people had been hanging around outside their school gate. They changed, from day to day, but they all looked more or less the same - too young to be parents, and wiry and angry, and they would comb their stares through the crowd of students that passed them morning and night as though hunting for somebody. Kaiba wasn't an idiot - they'd started showing up just about at the same time as Jounouchi had disappeared, and so it made sense that they were looking for him. Jounouchi had been missing for nearly a month, but they hadn't let up, despite the fact that he evidently didn't show his face here any more.<p>

Kaiba missed him. Kaiba missed him so much that he was even less able to sleep than normal, and he'd stare at Jounouchi's empty seat in class for the whole day without taking in a single word that his teachers were saying, and he'd stare out of his study window at night for hours as though he were expecting to see a sudden blonde-haired tough guy emerge out of the darkness. He'd tried to go looking for Jounouchi; he'd sent his carer's staff to hunt him down, but each time they'd all returned empty-handed and increasingly hopeless.

Jounouchi's friends had been equally useless - apparently Jounouchi "always" pulled disappearing acts, and it was best to "just sit tight" and hope that he'd come around again. Kaiba found it strange how he'd gone from being indifferent towards and a little jealous of Jounouchi, to being the only person in the world who seemed to actually give a shit about him. He'd even gone to the police and given them a description of him, but Kaiba hadn't seen even a shadow of an indication that the police force were actually making an effort to find him. Why were people so happy to let Jounouchi fall through the cracks?

Now Kaiba was awake at around half one on a Wednesday morning, bristling over the desk in his study and lurking in the lowlight that the moon cast through the huge window opposite him. He was the most powerful eighteen year old in the city, and he was used to getting what he wanted, and fast. Now all he wanted was to know that Jounouchi was safe, but nobody had heard from him in weeks. He might not even have been alive at all, and it was fraying Kaiba's mind at the seams.

His hands were clasped on the desk in front of him, atop a mess of scattered papers and schoolwork, and he stared listlessly out of the window, down at the garden below. In the distance he could see the river snaking through, and he remembered how Jounouchi had loved to lie by it and stretch out like a contented cat. He knew now that he should've made his move while he still could, to keep Jounouchi safe… to let him know that he cared.

He _cared_. It was such a terrifying thing, to care about somebody. He'd only ever been warm to Mokuba, who he knew would never leave him, and now to care for somebody else felt as though he were rolling over to reveal his vulnerable parts and hinging on a perhaps unwise trust that he wouldn't get hurt. But he wasn't a fool. He _couldn't_ attribute all of his feelings for Jounouchi to simply 'caring about him'.

_"Big brother, was that Jounouchi your friend?"_

_"Yes… a friend."_

_"Is that… all?"_

Even _Mokuba_ had noticed.

Suddenly the phone rang, and Kaiba jumped, then slammed his hand down on the receiver faster than he'd ever moved in his life.

_Calm down._

"Kaiba residence, Seto speaking," Kaiba said dully. The other line was silent.

They sat in quiet for another few minutes. Kaiba could hear the other person breathing, which was a little creepy.

"Can I help you?" he eventually said.

"I fucking miss you, man," Jounouchi said back, familiar even through the crackle. Kaiba's eyes widened.

"Jounouchi? Where are you? Are you safe?"

Jounouchi laughed gruffly, and it was possibly the most relieving thing Kaiba had ever heard.

"I'm alright, don't worry," he said, but Kaiba wasn't satisfied.

"But where are you?"

"Listen, don't worry about that -"

"Why did you call me?" he interrupted, but he already knew he wasn't going to get a straight answer - Jounouchi wasn't the kind to admit that he needed help, and it was frustrating.

"Well… I just wanted to… hear you. You know. I'm glad you're still awake."

"Are you staying with someone? Where _are_ you?"

"I'm on my own - I don't want you to come looking for me, I'm safe where I'm at," Jounouchi said back. Kaiba withheld a sigh. Jounouchi's definition of _safe_ was… interesting.

"What happened? Have you run away?"

"If I tell you, you're just gonna worry about me," Jounouchi joked, and Kaiba smirked.

"Don't flatter yourself," he shot back, but it was more than obvious he wasn't being serious.

"You know it's true!"

Of course it was true.

"There have been people looking for you, you know. They're staking out the gates at school," Kaiba said. A brief pause followed.

"I can't come back, Kaiba," Jounouchi said, but Kaiba had already guessed that much.

"Are you in trouble?"

"Stop worrying about me!"

"Jounouchi, I'm not kidding around here," Kaiba snapped - as quietly as possible, to avoid waking anyone. "Do you need help?"

"I'm doing alright for now. Don't worry about me," Jounouchi replied, and there was a weird softness in his voice. Kaiba didn't like people trying to reassure him.

"If you need me, you can always call," Kaiba said, resigned. Jounouchi would never ask for his help.

"I know. But I already owe you."

"You don't owe me anything. Are you sure you're okay?" Kaiba pushed.

"I'm fine, really."

"You say that a lot, Jounouchi, but it never seems to actually be _true_," Kaiba said shortly, and Jounouchi went quiet for a second. Kaiba could just about pick out the sound of a car pulling up where Jounouchi was.

"Jounouchi?"

"Uh, I gotta go, I'll talk to you later -"

The line went dead, beeping in his ear. Defeated, Kaiba slumped forwards onto his desk.

"Damn it," he choked, and then jabbed the number for call return, shaking as he held the receiver to his ear again.

_Last call ended at 01:47. Unable to retrieve incoming number. Unable to place a call back._

Kaiba slammed down the phone, and held his head in his hands.

* * *

><p>Jounouchi thumped down the receiver so fast that he accidentally punched the side of the telephone booth, painfully cracking all of his knuckles. Hand stinging, he burst out of the booth and took off running down the street, footsteps pounding desperately against the pavement. There was no use running from a <em>car<em> though, and he could see even now that he was well within the unearthly glow of its headlights - he took a quick right down an alley and kept running, kicking over trashcans to deter anyone who might be following them. He heard a car door slam. Someone shouted something and now there were people hot on his tail.

_They're going to kill me._

He didn't want to die. His heart beat so fast that it was hammering against his ribcage, like it wanted to break out; his lungs were burning but he _couldn't stop_ so he kept taking deep and desperate breaths and didn't stop running even as his stomach lurched and he felt sick. There were heavy footsteps after him and ragged breaths that weren't his own - don't stop, _don't stop_. His burning legs carried him on through another alleyway, past someone's garden fence; a light flicked on in the house but he'd already long gone, cutting across a kids' playground.

He could hear footsteps behind him even as he approached the outskirts of the village, where his feet took him unthinkingly over paving stones and out onto an open road. He was on autopilot, and the mission was to survive.

"You can't run forever, kid!" someone hollered after him, and this steeled his resolve. He could if he had to; he swung left, then, sprinting across the road in the path of an oncoming car. It swerved violently, ploughing into one of the people who were after him with a sickening crunch, but he didn't have time to stop or care as he vanished into scrubby woodland at the side of the road.

As he sprinted through the trees he grabbed the iron pipe from his satchel - good thing he'd had the presence of mind to bring it - and held it firm in his right hand. How had they _found_ him? They must've known he'd travel by foot and so wouldn't have been able to go far. Damn it. It was quieter here in the forest, too late for even the birds to be singing, and the only sound was his desperate panting and frantic footfalls splashing through the murk. The moonlight rippled over his skin, shattered by the tangle of branches that looked infinitely more sinister at night than they ever had during the day.

Now his pursuers had caught up to him again, and he was really, _really_ in trouble. He dared to throw his gaze over his shoulder for half a second - two men, neither of them had guns, but they were both bigger than him. He nimbly dodged a tree, managing to avoid running into it at the last second, and dived down a slippery slope, tumbling for some thirty feet into a brook at the bottom. He leapt from it like a spooked bird and kept up running, but within minutes they were on him again… his legs were cramping. He couldn't go on. He'd have to stand and fight.

He whipped around, scowling and panting, flooding his burning lungs with precious painful air. The two that were after him were approaching him slowly; they were in a forest clearing, and the moon stared down on them, a vicarious observer.

"What's say - we - get this - over with," Jounouchi struggled, holding a stitch in his side with his left hand. His other hand tightened its grip on the iron pipe as he eyed up the two men. No guns… but now they were both holding flick knives. Fuck. _Fuck_.

"You're a good runner, kid," the guy on the left said, stepping forward, blade-first.

"Thanks," Jounouchi spat, eyeing them both. "What do you want?"

"You dead, mostly," the other guy said, and Jounouchi nodded.

"You're - not - the first," he replied, with a sick and twisted grin at them. If they thought he'd be an easy target, they were stupid and wrong - Jounouchi had fended off guys twice his size, people with machetes, and he'd grown up on learning to avoid his own father. He was wiry, lean and merciless. He swung the pipe dangerously in front of him, leaning forwards onto the balls of his feet.

"Remember Kenshin?" one of them said, and Jounouchi shook his head. "He's the guy you and Matsuo _murdered_, you heartless bastard. Did you know you made his kid an orphan?"

Jounouchi snorted. "Did you know he _beat_ his kid?"

Neither of them had anything to say to this; the three of them stood still in the moonlight, like three ferocious beasts bristling before a face off. Jounouchi kept his eye trained firmly on the blade of the guy closest to him - he was fucking terrified of knives, ever since his dad had nearly sliced him open with a kitchen knife. Suddenly he remembered that Kaiba had seen that scar, and he felt a lump rise in his throat. He _couldn't_ die. He had unfinished business with Kaiba… things he still had to say.

One of the guys sprinted at him and Jounouchi swung the pipe like a baseball bat, expertly undercutting him right in his twisted face. Three of his teeth shattered and before the guy could react, Jounouchi lifted the pipe above his head and swung it down hard; it cracked hard against the guy's skull and left him unconscious, sprawled on the ground… but he didn't have time to react effectively to the knife that suddenly hurtled towards him.

He managed to throw his arm between the knife and his abdomen, and was rewarded with an excruciatingly painful gash up his forearm as the knife ripped right through his jacket. Jounouchi clutched the pipe a little harder in his spurting fist and thwacked it against the guy's kneecap, the momentum and force breaking it on impact. The guy gave a howl of pain and too collapsed; Jounouchi booted him hard in the side of the head and he was then silent.

_Get the fuck out of here_.

Still clutching the pipe, Jounouchi took off running.


	15. Right Behind You

Jounouchi needed to get away from there. The forest would take care of covering his tracks for him; autumn was nearing and soon the leaves would fall and rot, and the rain would wash away the blood gushing from his arm. But he needed to get _away_ because if the police came and he was hanging around, he was so, so fucked. He was already in bad condition; his right arm was hanging limply at his side, just about holding onto the iron pipe, and he was slumping as quickly as possible through the trees, heart hammering against his spine. He felt like he was fighting to stay conscious.

After he'd traipsed on for about fifteen minutes, still spewing blood, he came to a narrow river that cut a clean path through the undergrowth. Into it, he tossed the iron pipe, and then he collapsed to his knees by its bank. He could barely see a thing; the moonlight that managed to filter through the leaves here just allowed him sight of a wound that raced down the length of his forearm, finishing in a sickly hook down between his thumb and forefinger. There was blood everywhere, all over his arm, slicking his shirt - he could even feel some on his face and matted in his hair.

He struggled out of his jacket and then pulled another shirt out of his satchel, which he folded messily and pressed against his bleeding arm. Within minutes he could feel warm wetness soaking through even several layers of fabric - it was alright, he still felt alert and lively, he just had to stop the bleeding… but the thought that he was all alone out here made his heart pound, which did _not_ help the situation. He focused on the pain to take his mind off the thought that he might die, which worked nicely.

It was the most intense pain Jounouchi had ever felt. When his father had stabbed him in the belly, he'd passed out immediately and woken up in hospital on morphine. This time, there were no painkillers and nobody to rescue him: it was just him and this enormous pain that made his entire arm feel like it'd been ravaged by a hideous beast, rather than just a flick knife. He gritted his teeth and pushed down a little harder with his folded shirt, hissing lowly.

"_Fuck,_" he groaned, voice squeaking a little. He peeled back the shirt to see that the blood was still flowing strong - he needed to go to hospital. He really, really needed to go to hospital, or he was going to die out here in the middle of fucking nowhere, alone and pathetic.

_Keep it together, Jounouchi,_ he told himself, pinning his arm against his chest as he stuffed his jacket into his satchel then swung it over one shoulder. Taking a firm grip on the shirt pressed to his arm again, he staggered to his feet. He still felt lucid. He could still go on, but time was running out. The stench of blood in his nose was making him feel ill, but as he dragged himself away from the riverbank it faded.

He wasn't going to head back the way he came, or to the road he'd run across earlier - that was stupid. Instead, he was heading for the noise of a road on the other side of the forest. By now it was nearly four in the morning, he realised when he checked his watch, and the world would very sluggishly be beginning to get up. He could hear cars rumbling not too far away. He would be fine. As he staggered on it became increasingly difficult to find safe footholds, to avoid stumbling over exposed tree roots, to keep himself from slipping on wet leaves. He was getting increasingly anxious, and he could see in the lowlight that his hands were bright white underneath all the blood.

_Hurry up._

He could still make it. He was still alive; he could still fight. He was too young to die, only eighteen. There were still so many things he had left to do, and the thought of his death being reported in a crowded newspaper column made him feel just about angry enough to give him the last strength he needed. He was out of the woods now, standing on the side of the road; the sudden light made him reel. The sky was dark blue, lighter than black, and streetlamps cast a sulphur-yellow glow down on him, lighting him up a sickly ill colour. A few sets of headlights rushed past, white at first then red as they ran away from him. Was nobody going to stop? Jounouchi knew that he talked a big talk about not wanting to accept help from anybody, but this was a little different.

After he'd watched about seven cars flick by, driven by soulless fucks apparently, eventually he realised that none of these people cared about him. In any other situation, he might've been inclined to think about human nature, but right now he needed to find the nearest emergency telephone. He staggered down alongside the road, wondering what was going through the minds of every driver that raced on by.

Ten minutes. He was feeling confused now. The orange box was the most important thing but even as he looked at it, everything else blurred. He picked up the receiver.

"Gotta go to hospital."

Jounouchi was lucky that the operator that morning was a particularly resourceful one.

* * *

><p>He woke up in a hospital bed. That was a familiar feeling. For a second he couldn't remember how he'd got there, because he couldn't feel a thing - but he felt perfectly alert. Surely he didn't belong in hospital. He really felt <em>fine<em>… until he looked down at his arm to see that it was wrapped from elbow to knuckle in bandages. And _then_ he remembered, and panicked. What had happened while he was passed out? Did anybody know about those two guys in the woods? Were they dead? He was sure he hadn't hurt them bad enough to kill, but -

"Oh, you're awake?" the doctor said, smiling at him over her glasses. She'd opened the door suddenly and interrupted his train of thought. "Good morning, then. There's someone here to see you."

The police? No…

"I've never been happier to see your stupid face in my whole life," Jounouchi said, and Kaiba smirked at him, sweeping the door shut behind him. They were alone. Under different conditions… it would've been nice. Kaiba pulled up a chair at his bedside.

"I've been with the police since four a.m.," he rasped, and Jounouchi glanced at the clock on his bedside table to see that it was now seven thirty in the morning.

"Am I going to prison?" he said, now staring back at Kaiba.

"No," Kaiba reassured him, and Jounouchi could've cried with happiness. "One of the men after you was hit by a car. He's in the ICU but they seem to think he'll be fine. The other two were found in the forest with severe wounds, but with a substantial bribe - and by pointing out that they'd ignored the fact you were missing for an entire month - I managed to _convince_ the police that the pair of them must have been fighting amongst themselves. They're both in hospital, too. They're all going on trial next month for gang-related offences. Your name is clear."

Jounouchi just stared at him, slowly considering all of this information. The best his brain could do with it was come to the conclusion that everything was alright.

"You're amazing," Jounouchi eventually said, blinking slowly at Kaiba.

"I like to think so, too," Kaiba replied, smirking at him. Jounouchi wondered if Kaiba ever _smiled_, rather than smirked, and decided that he'd have to find out.

"Why did you do all that for me? Could've just left me to deal with it."

"I could've, but I doubt you would've handled it very well," Kaiba said, and Jounouchi grinned. That was only too right. "Besides, I... _care_ about you, Jounouchi."

Jounouchi squirmed a little, his grin fading to a tiny abashed smile.

"I figured. And Kaiba, listen, I really _really_ owe you this time," Jounouchi said, and Kaiba nodded.

"I suppose you do. As repayment, I'd like to know exactly what happened after you left my house and then disappeared."

Jounouchi looked down at his hands - one bandaged, one bare - and considered this. Outside his window, the birds were singing and the sun was peeping above the horizon; everything was sunny and light and beautiful, and this day was turning out much better than he'd first expected. He could tell the story.

"I went back to the warehouse that I'd been living in, for a couple of days. I thought I was alright until my dad showed up and told me that a gang was after me," Jounouchi slowly explained, and then sighed. "So I got the fuck outta there, because I wasn't gonna hang around waiting for them to show up and blow my brains out. I went down into the forest a couple miles away, and hid out in there for about a month. Then I got a little cocky about how safe I was and started going into the village about two hours away more often. On the night that I rang you up, they found me. My bad luck."

"Why is your life so hard, Jounouchi?" Kaiba said, with the same anger in his voice that Jounouchi often felt - at the _unfairness_ of it all.

"'Cause I'm too stupid to take help from people who wanna save my ass?" Jounouchi suggested, and then Kaiba's lip curved into something that was definitely _not_ a smirk. He was cute.

_Wait, what?_

And then he realised something that seemed at odds with the situation, and yet made complete sense. Even in the unforgiving fluorescent light, even with the heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes, Kaiba was incredible. He looked tired, he looked beaten down, and it made sense because he'd spent three and a half hours forcing everyone to submit to his will, for Jounouchi's good. Even then, somehow, there was something in his eyes, something about that cool perfect blue… oh, Jounouchi was falling, and hard, and he _knew _it.

"That sounds about right, actually," Kaiba said, and Jounouchi blushed. "So. What can I do for you now?"

"You don't have to do anything. You already did... a lot."

"Do you have anywhere to live?" Kaiba said. Jounouchi faltered - he hadn't even thought about that. He was just happy to be alive.

"Not technically."

"My adoptive father is away on business - again - until the end of the year. You can move back in with me."

"I can't do that, Kaiba, I -"

"Jounouchi, it wasn't really an invitation. It was more of a… strong suggestion."

"You think you get to tell me what to do just because you're rich and powerful?" Jounouchi said, meeting Kaiba's cool stare with a challenging one of his own. He so desperately wanted to go home with him.

"No. I also don't think that I know what's best for you. But I would just really like to have you around," Kaiba said, sounding a little begrudged about admitting that last part. "It doesn't mean I'm trying to save you, and you can leave whenever you want."

"So it'd just be like… crashing on a friend's couch? Except in a mansion?"

"Exactly."

Jounouchi relaxed back into his pillow, peering up at Kaiba with big eyes. Kaiba's house was the safest place he'd ever been… and Kaiba had said it himself, it wasn't like Jounouchi was relying on him to save his life or anything. He was still in control; Kaiba must have figured out that he liked that.

"Well then… I guess that sounds alright."


End file.
